The Long Road
by Ardeth Saunders
Summary: Frank follows a ladylove out of state where they become embroiled in conflict with an old enemy. Will the sparks fly or die? [Sequel to “Mission: Aggravation,” “Thorn In His Side,” and “Back For More.”]
1. Fear

**TITLE****:  "The Long Road"**

**AUTHOR****:  Ardeth Saunders [a.k.a., Cruecial or Cruecial411]**

**RATING****:  R [Language, violence, and adult content]**

**SUMMARY****:  Frank follows a ladylove out of state where they become embroiled in conflict with an old enemy.  Will the sparks fly or die?  [Sequel to "Mission:  Aggravation," "Thorn In His Side," and "Back For More."]  **

**GENRE****:  Drama, Suspense, Action, and a special breed of Romance [Lustmance]  **

**DISCLAIMER****:  _UC:  Undercover_ and its cast of characters belong to the writers, creators, NBC, and a dozen others.  NO infringement intended.  All other original characters belong solely to the sick, twisted, and vivid imagination of the author.**

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

FEAR 

It was around midnight when Donovan was roused out of bed by a gentle rapping at his door.  He climbed out of bed and shrugged into his robe.  He hoped the noise didn't disturb Stasia.  He padded silently to the door and stuck his eye up to the peephole.  _What is she doing back_, he thought.  He opened the door and barely had time to breathe before she threw herself into his arms and kissed him.  He felt himself responding to her every touch.  He had to get her inside quickly before they awakened the other woman in his life.  He swung her around and hooked the door with his foot.  A gentle push and it closed.  He winced when it made a hollow banging noise.  While kissing the breath out of her, he listened for the baby.  The noise apparently hadn't bothered her a bit.  Good.  Her hands were at his robe, ripping at the sash, tearing it open.  They moved over the smooth muscle of his chest and she raked her nails down it, causing him to release a hissing breath against her lips.  What the hell was she trying to do to him?  He didn't know.  He didn't care.  Whatever it was, he liked it.  God did he like it.  Her impatient hands pushed at his robe and he literally ripped it off his body.  He noticed that he had yet to stop kissing her.  Could she breathe?  Was he really worried about that?  No.  Uh uh.  All he was worried about was getting her out of her clothes and making love to her.  He had wanted her since he saw her earlier, but there had been no time.  There was never enough damn time.  His robe finally off, he released her lips and watched with hungry eyes as she lifted her arms over her head, waiting for him to rid her of her blouse.  He did not hesitate.  He carelessly tossed it aside and he went to her again.  His lips claimed hers once more as his hands cupped her breasts.  He felt her nipples hardening through the lacy material of her bra.  She would have to come out of that.  Oh yes she would.  He drew the straps down off her shoulders and allowed his mouth to attack her shoulder.  At the same time, his free hand was dragging the other strap down.  He quickly switched sides and let his hand fall down the small of her back.  With very slight movements, the bra was unhooked and discarded.  With his arms wrapped around her, his head dipped down and drew a hardened nipple between his lips, sucking it into his mouth, pulling and tugging.  Oh damn.  How could he do this to her?  The thought entered her mind again as he went to work on the other.  What else did she have on?  A skirt?  Slacks?  God why wasn't she undressed yet?  When his mouth moved back up, his hands slid down her naked back and settled on her buttocks.  A skirt.  Good.  Relatively easy to discard.  He took a handful of her skirt and with a near animalistic snarl, he tugged at it, yanking and pulling.  It came off quickly, but he wasn't altogether certain it would be wearable after tonight.  He noticed with a look of wonder that she had somehow discarded her shoes.  When the hell did that happen?  Had he been losing time?  Oh.  What did it matter?  He kissed her again, pulling her body roughly against his, crushing her into him.  She felt her body moving backward.  He was pushing her along, supporting her with his hand, but he was determined to get her away from the door.  She would not leave him again tonight.

Her legs hit the edge of the couch and she yipped in surprise.  For a moment, she felt the awful sensation of falling down.  She didn't land on the floor.  Instead, he had positioned her body in such a way that she fell back on the cushions, half on/half off the couch.  She didn't have to wait long to right herself.  He came after her almost immediately.  His body pinned hers to the couch.  She noticed that both of their bodies were becoming quite slicked with sweat.  Uh God.  When Donovan's weight shifted slightly, she felt her body slipping just a bit.  She was about to fall into a gigantic quivering pool onto the floor when his strong hands gripped her and pulled her back underneath him.  They stifled a laugh within a kiss.  _I am such a dolt._  A small whimpering cry left her as his hand slid down her side.  It never dawned on either of them that they were still covered by their undergarments.  How utterly embarrassing.  What were they?  Two goofy teenagers?  He groaned a little and slid his hand inside the elastic waistband of her panties.  The moment he touched her flesh beneath the silky material, a second whimpering cry left her.  How did he expect to get her out of her panties if he didn't move?  She was sure he'd find a way.  She was right, he did.  She felt them going down, sliding between a space not wide enough for a cigarette paper.  How was he doing this?  Oh he was good.  He was so good.  She freed one leg and left the other alone.  She had little patience.  His lips found hers again as her own hands worked inside his tight little black shorts.  He looked so hot in them that it was a damn shame to remove them.  However, her sadness was short-lived.  She worked them down far enough where their legs and feet could get them off the rest of the way.  The heated, hardened flesh, the male part of him, was crushed against her, throbbing with a life of its own.  How long would it take to feel it inside her?  At times, he could be an incredible tease, and she didn't know if she could stand it, not tonight.

He groaned, the sound emitting from deep down in his throat, as she shifted her body just the tiniest bit.  If he had bothered looking, he would have seen her propping one leg against the couch while the other hung crazily in the air.  All he did know was that she had moved, drawing him closer and closer to the center of her, an area so moist and aching, so welcoming.  No.  He wouldn't rush.  He refused to rush.  He would take his time, control the urges, touch her, taste her, love her like he wanted.  They had all night, all day tomorrow, and perhaps the day after that as well.  His hand fell on the side of her hip, the one attached to the leg flailing almost crazily in the air.  He drew it around him as a way to control the madness, to put the game at his advantage instead of hers.  She snaked her leg around him at his prodding, but was pretty close to begging him to end the torture.  Why was he doing this to her?  What had she ever done to him to deserve this?  Oh, he was a wicked, wicked man.  She liked it, though, she liked it a lot.  Halfway out of her mind now, she felt the dizzying sensation of being pulled up.  Where was he taking her?  She wasn't sure if she had the strength to walk back into the bedroom.  He just might have to carry her.  Instead, he sat up and pulled her forward, wrapping her legs around his waist again.  Would he come inside her now?  Would he continue the torture game?  If she lived through the night, she'd get him back some way.  Oh yes she would.  He kissed her again, his hands plunging into her hair, and hers moved down his naked chest, traveling lower, settling on him.  He took in a startled, hissing breath, and he broke the kiss.  Leaning his forehead against hers for a moment, he moaned a tormented 'uh uh,' before drawing her hand away.  Not so fast.  Not yet.  He lowered her back down to the couch and she thought he would come back down with her, but he didn't.  Instead, he placed her body in a partial sitting position.  What the hell did he think he was doing?  She didn't have long to wonder or ponder the fate of the world.  She didn't have time to breathe, actually.  She felt the invasion of his wet tongue inside her.  Normally not one to like this sort of thing, she got jolly right into it.  She plunged a hand into his hair and tossed her head back.  Oh God oh God oh God.  What was he doing to her?  _Uh uh.  He will not make me come.  He will not make me come.  Not yet not yet not yet.  _Oh.  Too late too late too late.  She took a fistful of his hair as the sensation overtook her.  She wasn't the type to cry out, either, and she had to fight the urge.  After all, he had neighbors.  Instead, she whimpered with each strong contraction until the feeling subsided slowly.  

Sensing that his job was done for the time being, he placed a trail of kisses back up her body until his lips were on hers again.  Once more, she felt her body sliding over beneath him.  She knew that he would eventually have to come inside her.  What did he want her to do?  Beg?  Had she ever begged before?  Her hand found him again, and this time, he didn't push her away.  It was her turn for a little return torture.  _Oh ho.  What do we have here_?  Their kiss deepened as her hand moved up and down him slowly, deliberately.  At one moment, her touch was heavy and her fingers squeezed mercilessly.  At another, her fingers would only brush lightly along his length.  The noises coming from inside him made her smile.  He certainly could dish it out better than he took it.  She heard another groaned response:  _uh uh_.  She would stop, but only if it meant he would come inside her once and for all.  God.  Would he take the cue?  She removed her hand again, positioning her body in the same awkward way before he had decided to orally torture her.  Could he take it?  Could he continue to hold back without losing his mind?  Jesus.  He didn't understand how he had lasted this long.  With his lips and teeth nibbling the delicate flesh of her throat, she felt the slight shift of his lower body.  Oh God.  It was about damn time.  Jesus.  She sighed deeply as she felt the throbbing girth of him entering her slowly, just a gentle push here and there until he was completely inside her.  He pulled back and away, totally exiting her, and she groaned in annoyed frustration.  Oh.  He was an Indian giver.  Before she had time to complain, he slid into her again, not withdrawing this time, but moving within her at a snail's pace.  How did he have the control?  Good God.  He lost his hold on control just the slightest bit when she dug her nails into his back and began moving with him, in perfect harmony.  Had it ever been this way with her before?  _Had it_?  How could he have been stupid enough to let her go?  When his body stilled in the throes of climax several minutes later, he pulled her up to a sitting position astride him, never losing the connection with her.  He plunged his hands into her hair [_had it ever felt this soft_] and nibbled the flesh at the side of her neck.  What to say?  What to do next?  Where to go?  It was confusing, but there was one thing that he was not confused about.

He brought his lips up to her ear where she could hear his heavy breathing, feel the puffs of air as he inhaled and exhaled.  "I love you.  You know that, don't you?"

Her arms came up around his back.  "I know."  _Say it back, you dolt.  Say it back.  _"I love you, too."                

*  *  *

A cry in the early dawn hours awakened Donovan.  He went to his daughter's room to take care of her.  She was crying softly and holding out her little arms to be picked up.  He knew she felt completely shuttled around.  He hugged her to him and assured her that she wouldn't be uprooted this time.  She was home to stay.  When she quieted down, he laid her back in her bed and tucked her in.  He went back to his bedroom, stripped out of his robe, and slid into bed.  Unable to go back to sleep right away, he lay propped on his elbow and stared at her.  He couldn't help but wonder what motivated her to come back after being so determined to leave.  She lay on her back, her arms splayed out.  When he woke up a few minutes ago, her arm had been laying across his chest.  The bed sheet was pulled up past her breasts and he hooked a finger inside.  Carefully, so as not to awaken her, he drew the sheet down.  His hand reached out and touched her breast.  She moaned a little in her sleep and covered his hand with hers.  He slid his hand along her breast and settled it between them.  She moaned again and mumbled something he couldn't understand.  He smiled a little and drew a gentle line along the tattoo that had fascinated him so when he first laid eyes on her.  He supposed that unconsciously, he had made his choice, but was it one he could stick to?  What if she hadn't made hers?  He hadn't given much thought to that.  He hadn't given much thought to anything the moment she came through the door.  There hadn't been much time for reflection anyway, had there?  Shaking his head a little and sighing, he settled on the bed beside her, not quite removing his hand from the tattoo placed almost strategically over her heart.  

*  *  *

Pax came awake slowly.  For a moment, she wondered if last night had been a hallucination.  When she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, she was shown the reality of the situation.  Nope.  Wasn't a hallucination.  Had she been thinking straight when she came over here?  Did it matter?  She had wanted Frank and she came after him.  What else needed to be said?  He loved her [she didn't have the foggiest idea why] and she loved him.  God.  Why was she so stupid?  She could have easily gotten on the plane and made her way to Miami.  It was where she needed to be.  Fuck.  She turned to her side and reach out to the vacant side of the bed.  What had happened after the crazy shit on the couch?  Oh yes.  He had taken her to bed and made love to her again.  It seemed as if she were drunk or something.  She couldn't remember anything.  Or was it that she didn't want to remember anything?  The tricky bastard had basically made her tell him she loved him.  She tried to deny it, of course, but once it was out, it was out.  It was a dirty trick, but also one that kind of hurt when he didn't immediately return the sentiment.  She kept a wall built around her heart and didn't let many people in, but when she did, she gave completely over.  It was his admission that fueled her desire to come back for a few more days.  She still had her tickets and could easily swamp them out.  Question was, did she want to go?  God.  What the fuck was she thinking?  She could be in love with the witless fuck, but she damn well couldn't live with him, could she?  It wasn't in her.  It wasn't something that she had been designed for when she was hatched.  She closed her eyes.  _Jonella Paxton, Donovan's princess has given you the Dolt Disease_.

From the other room, she heard the unmistakable sound of a child crying.  _Dear jumping Jesus on a fucking camel_.  He had his kid here?  He fucked her brains out twice with his kid in the other room?  Jesus.  She had never had an easy time around little kids.  Most of them ran away from her screaming at the top of their lungs.  If the kid were here, the princess would surely return today or tomorrow.  She squeezed her eyes closed and decided to get a few more winks of sleep.  She might ship out sooner than she thought.  After a moment, the child's crying tapered off and she breathed a sigh of relief.  She didn't mesh well with little kids.  Nope.  Nope.  She heard the bedroom door opening and her body tensed.  Damn it.  Why couldn't she just fucking relax?  She felt him slide into bed behind her.  She was a bit torn.  She wanted his touch, but didn't want it at the same time.  She hadn't gotten the hang of this love thing yet.  It had been many, many years since she had felt any emotion close to it.  The moment she felt the solid wall of his body behind her, she let out a long, trembling sigh.  Ugh.  How wimpy was that.

"I'll be gone before your princess picks up the kid," she said.

Confused, he gazed down at her.  He then nodded.  Duh.  She didn't know Remy had left to scout for a place to live out of town.  "You don't have to go anywhere, Jonella, Stasia is staying with me now.  My ex left town earlier yesterday and I'm not sure when she's coming back."

For a moment, she felt the jubilated elation of a child:  _Me!  Me!  He chose me!_  She shook it off.  God.  Where the fuck did that come from?  "She left?  Just like that?  Why?"

"Possibly to find her own life, but also to give me enough time to make up my mind.  She thinks the time with Stasia will direct my attention back to her."

"Won't it," she asked.

"No," he stated firmly, "it won't."

"What the hell are you saying," she asked.  She knew she needed to look at him, but she couldn't.  She was afraid to hear his answer, whichever way it went.  

"What do you think I'm saying?  I want you, I think you want me, and I refuse to be drawn into a game of tug-o-war.  What do you want?  You've never told me, not once."

"I don't know," she said.

"You don't?  Then why did you come here?"

She huffed.  "Goddamn.  Your ego is bigger than the whole state of Texas.  Maybe I wanted one more cheap thrill before I hopped the plane to Miami.  Maybe I needed a little side entertainment.  Fuck, Frank.  Why do you ask questions like that?"

He shook his head and chuckled.  "Same woman you've always been," he told her, "I tell you I love you, and you're still trying to push my buttons.  You don't have to do that anymore.  You didn't have to do it before."

"Are you going to make me say it," she asked, her voice muffled in the pillow.

"What do you think?"

She growled and drove her fist into the bed.  "I want you, okay," she said grudgingly.  "I want you.  I've wanted you since I first met you.  Happy now?"

He kissed her shoulder.  "Not just yet.  Give me a day or two."

She turned to her back, ready to throttle him.  "You bastard.  When are you going to stop fucking tricking me?  Goddamn, you're fucked in the head."

"Shut up," he said, not unkindly.  She was about to say something else, to curse at him again, but he stopped it with a kiss.      


	2. Gone But Not Forgotten

GONE, BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

After Pax fell asleep for the second time, Donovan placed a kiss on her shoulder before leaving her alone.  He had actually never seen her so exhausted before.  Pax heard the soft click the door made as it thumped closed behind him.  She sighed and settled into the covers a bit more.  It had been quite some time since she had felt so relaxed.  She once thought she could never sleep past three or four hours, but that theory was shot to hell.  She would sleep for hours, stay in bed all day if the witless fuck would allow her to do so.  Pax pressed her cheek into the pillow and sighed deeply.  She was going out, and down, down, down.  

*  *  *

_Before she became "Pax," she was often referred to as "Jonella."  The reason she hated it so to this day was because **he** often called her that.  She hated the bastard.  She would allow a man to betray her one time before she picked him up and tossed him in the garbage, but this one was different.  Jonella had started her career in covert operations for the CIA before she knew a man named Frank Donovan existed.  As would happen with Donovan, she was partnered with a young man, a more experienced agent.  It was sometimes common practice to do so when the agent in question was a rookie, and especially so if the agent had a hair trigger.  Jonella Paxton was both.  The first day she met her partner, she wasn't very damn impressed, nor was he.  Or so she thought.  Her senior agent was about five or six years older than her and he was just as close mouthed and moody as her future partner.  She rarely ever spoke his name in her present life, but she often heard it in her dreams.  Keith.  He was known [God only knows why] as "Edge" and he preferred to be called by his nickname.  However, Jonella was never one to do as someone asked.  Even then, she enjoyed pushing buttons and she never referred to him as anything other than Keith.  In turn, he never called her anything but Jonella, and she fucking hated her name.  If she had the means and the time, she would surely change the fucker to something else.  Oh yes she would.  _

_On the outside, Keith was a fairly hot looking guy.  He was tall, broad shouldered, and dark.  His hair was a dark shade of chocolate brown and his eyes were deep ebony.  Rumor had it that he was half Sioux Indian, but she had never gotten that confirmed or denied.  He was often stoic and cold [Her sleeping mind couldn't help but notice that he fucking had a lot of qualities that Frankie did], and most of his personal information had to be pried out of him with a crowbar.  On her fourth or fifth day of being his partner, she discovered that he had a wife and two children at home.  She would rather stab herself in the eye than admit how much that news crushed her.  She fucking refused to fuck around with a married man.  Ha.  As if he'd want to fuck around with her anyway.  Who would?  She was taller than average, thin, but wiry, and kept her ash blonde hair brutally short.  It was difficult working covert operations with long hair.  Actually, it was pretty fucking close to impossible.  Her face had plain unexotic features and she often thought her neck was too long.  She was no damn beauty, she knew this, and she had always had a hang-up about her gawky body.  It had followed her through childhood and on to her adult years.  She had been the tallest fucking girl in school, and had gone to her senior high prom alone.  Her feelings of inadequacy doubled when her close-mouthed partner finally showed her a picture of his wife.  She was a perfect blonde goddess with an hourglass figure and flawless skin [Goddamn it.  The fucking princess all over again].  Even after popping out two children, she kept her figure.  It was pretty damn sickening.  Although she didn't give a ripe fuck one way or another, she asked Keith what his goddess' name was.  Riva [Another damn "R" name].  Amazing.  Oh well.  It wasn't like she had a chance anyway.  Not only that, but it was a bad fucking idea to mess around with one's partner._

_What came about that changed it for them?  What was it?  What was the gentle little nudge?  Maybe it was the goddamn vodka again.  She had loved that shit all her life and carried it wherever she went.  This assignment was no exception.  Unlike her time with Frankie, they weren't thrown together in a tent.  Instead, they were set up in a temporary shelter out in the middle of a fucking field.  She didn't remember what country they were in.  They had been to so many.  The US, France, Germany, and the Soviet Union.  This time, she thought they might have gone to a middle-eastern country, perhaps Iraq?  No, not Iraq.  What the fuck did it matter anyway?  The two of them had been thrown together for three or four weeks straight.  Keith was her only outside connection to the world, and she was his.  Every man [or woman] has a weakness, and Keith's was confinement.  Rumor [Oh yeah, the CIA was a regular fucking rumor mill] had it that Keith was captured once by the Colombians and thrown into a hole.  She heard he had been starved for days.  His only saving grace was the climate.  Every night it had rained, and he had been saved from death by that simple fact.  He hadn't seen his wife in two months and was paranoid that she was seeing someone else.  Nothing she said did any good.  He was completely convinced that his goddess was fucking around on him.  He was bitter about that, angry almost.  He vowed that after this particular assignment, he was leaving the agency for good.  She had never seen a man freaking out like he had.  It was weird watching a strong stoic man fall apart.  In normal Pax style, she approached Keith and slapped the shit out of him, commanding him to snap out of it.  His ranting and raving was driving her batshit.  At first, he was offended by the behavior and his black eyes were fixed murderously on her.  If she survived through the night, it would be a complete miracle.  Keith grabbed her wrist and came mighty damn close to punching her lights out, but he released her quickly.  She had overstepped some type of boundary.  It didn't take a genius to realize that.  She gave him her vodka flask and he took it gratefully.  Unlike her future partner [Funny how he fucking invaded her dreams, even when the subject wasn't him], Keith enjoyed a shot of vodka now and again.  He took it and drank deeply, nearly draining the flask.  He needed it.  He needed it to calm down and stop the paranoid thoughts from entering his mind.  She sat back and listened to him.  His Riva was good, she was faithful, their children were beautiful, and on and on.  It was enough to make her sick.  She knew she couldn't have Keith, but she damn well didn't want to hear him fawn ceaselessly about his fucking wife.  Eventually, she screamed out for him to shut up._

_Startled, Keith held the flask up to his lips and gazed curiously at her.  He had never heard an outburst such as that, not from Jonella, not directed at him.  Like Jonella, Keith was a button pusher.  She often wondered if she had learned the technique from him.  He goaded her, picked at her, and humiliated her, until she literally begged for mercy.  There was no fucking way she would tell him what she thought about him.  She wanted to keep her fucking job.  He picked and poked until she screamed at him again.  She threw another punch, aiming for his handsome face, but it was misguided.  He stopped it easily, grasping her fist in his large paw [Hmmm…do I see a pattern here].  He shoved her back and she nearly fell on her skinny ass.  He was casting her away, or at least trying to, but the stress of the situation was getting to them, driving them both crazy.  Jonella didn't have anyone waiting for her at home, but she fucking hated isolation.  Before her body hit the floor, he jerked her back up to her feet.  Within seconds, he was kissing her.  At first, she fought him, beating at his chest, his face, and trying to reach his groin, but nothing she did worked.  He was strong, stronger than her, and he completely had the upper hand.  It wasn't a situation she liked being in, no fucking way.  She couldn't drive out his invasive tongue or beat away his exploring hands.  Why was he doing this to her?  Why was he fucking around with her like this?  Two minutes before, he had been bawling over his wife, and now he was kissing another woman.  She knew he didn't want her, not really.  He was driven forward by loneliness and isolation.  He had been without his wife far too long and it was getting to him._

_Before too long a time, Keith had her thrown down on the floor, his heavy body pinning her down.  For the first few minutes, she denied him, fought at him, and demanded he let her up, but nothing was reaching his brain.  He was ripping at her clothes, tearing at them, and she kept trying to get through to him.  What the fuck did he think he was doing?  Hello!  You have a goddess and two children waiting for you at home.  She didn't fuck around with married men.  Once some of her flesh was exposed, her fight and protests died as soon as he touched her.  He didn't go for her face or her breasts; his hand fell immediately on the mound of flesh between her legs.  She was very young and inexperienced, had never felt anything like this before.  She winced a little when his finger entered her.  It didn't matter, she didn't care.  She had wanted this, she had longed for it.  He was making commands to her, commands in a language she didn't understand.  She had been exposed to many languages since joining up, but nothing like this.  It should have been her first cue that something was amiss, but she couldn't exactly think straight.  She didn't know what to do for him or what to say.  Goddamn it.  Why didn't he just speak English for fuck's sake.  She'd do anything he wanted if she could just fucking understand him.  When she didn't follow his commands, he seemed to shake it off.  It was as if he were a different person altogether.  How did a fucking nut job end up in the CIA?  Nut job or no, he knew what he was doing and he did it well.  She wanted to take charge, wanted to do something, but he was dominating her, not allowing her to move at all.  She didn't like that shit.  Didn't like being treated like a second-class citizen.  When she moved just the slightest, his hand clamped down on her shoulder, and he uttered an impatient 'no.'  At that point, she was ready to go, ready to argue, but she didn't really have time to think about it.  Without warning, without hesitation, he frantically worked his pants open, shoved them down, and entered her roughly.  Oh goddamn.  He was so big.  She supposed she should have told him she was kinda/sorta a virgin, but it hadn't seemed important at the time.  He felt the resistance of her flesh, the tightness, and it drove him forward harder and rougher than before.  She gasped in pain with each hard, invasive thrust.  How long did it take?  Minutes?  Hours?  When he met his release inside her, his body jerked almost convulsively, and he whispered something in his strange language._

_When his body collapsed on top of hers, she felt the horrifying sensation of being smothered, but she wouldn't dare ask him to move, not just yet.  She liked this, liked this side of him, a side she might never see again.  Although she thought she had died and gone to heaven, she felt incredibly awkward.  What would happen to them after this?  How would she face him?  How could she look at him?  She would never see him in the same light again, that was for damn sure.  He whispered something to her in his strange language:  **De De' ang. en jomfru** [You're a virgin].  She had no idea what the hell he said.  He repeated his statement in English and Jonella answered as only she could:  No shit.  He laughed a little.  It wasn't an intimate laugh shared between lovers, it seemed mocking.  However, Jonella shook it off.  Perhaps she was only being paranoid.  When she thought about it later, she often wished she had listened to that little voice._

_What happened after that was not expected.  The day after, Keith acted coolly around her, didn't give one indication that he had fucked her brains out the night before.  At first, she was hurt by that, but then understood.  He couldn't give away shit, not with a goddess and children at home.  Goddamn she felt like shit.  They mostly worked night moves, so daytime was actually spent briefing their superiors.  Every now and then, Jonella would spot Keith speaking quietly over a scrambled satellite phone.  She had also seen him typing away at an odd looking keyboard of some sort.  She never confronted him with this, and it would wind up being another mistake.  She had been a drippy ass bitch in love and she wasn't thinking clearly.  Of course, she had no idea that was what Keith had planned all along.  It had taken three or four days for Keith to approach her again.  He had taken her down to the floor yet again and made love to her just as roughly as he did the first time.  However, her body seemed to accommodate him this time, and she actually got some enjoyment out of it.  He wasn't tender by any stretch of the imagination, but tender had never been her style either.  Their off color affair had gone on for several weeks and Keith made no mention of his wife and children.  Jonella was grateful for that, she couldn't take the guilt.  When the assignment ended three or four weeks later, Jonella was no longer considered a rookie and she was given charge of her own assignment.  She saw Keith occasionally after that, and he made visits to her now and again.  She never issued any ultimatums, never made demands.  She took what she could get.  However, her life changed abruptly, unexpectedly.  She would never forget that day as long as she lived.  The words rang true and clear in her head, even today:  **I can assure you that you haven't contracted a virus, Ms. Paxton.  Nausea and vomiting is very common among women who are pregnant.**  Jumping Jesus on a fucking camel.  Pregnant?  What the hell did he mean pregnant?  She couldn't be pregnant.  Shit like that didn't happen to her,** couldn't** happen to her.  She was the girl nobody wanted.  A baby.  Goddamn it.  A fucking baby.  What the hell?  What was that she felt?  Shock or happiness or a mixture of both?  Whatever the case, she had never felt this way before.  Her next thought lingered on Keith.  How would he react?  Could she even tell him?  As it turned out, she didn't get a chance._

_Jonella made her way back toward headquarters.  There were a few things that needed to be settled, and she would have to talk to Keith.  She didn't want anything from him, she wasn't sure she even loved him, but he needed to know about the child, because she wasn't sure what she was going to do about it.  By the time she set foot in her superior's office, the room was buzzing with activity.  She heard snippets of information here and there, heard the word 'infiltration' mentioned more than once.  What the hell was going on?  She held her breath when the name "Keith" was brought up.  She first thought he had been murdered, but as she listened, she realized that it wasn't the case at all.  "Keith" was a Norwegian double agent sent by a mid-eastern governmental organization.  There was no blonde goddess wife or children.  It had all been a setup from the very beginning.  Everything about Keith was a lie, including his fucking name.  Jesus.  She had played right along with his game, had been banged harder than a drum.  He had used her, had gotten her pregnant, and now he was gone.  Vicious rage entered her heart and she went into a seek and destroy type mode.  She immediately requested to be put on the retrieval team.  Her superiors balked at first.  She was still green, had been trained by the enemy, and they weren't sure they could trust her.  However, they took a chance and allowed her the opportunity._

_They had determined that Keith left just a few short hours before sunrise, likely on foot, and they figured he was traveling by night and sleeping by day.  It was only a matter of time before they found him.  Yet, it took longer than they anticipated.  In fact, they never found him.  He slipped away to whatever country sent him and it was the end.  Jonella was put under the lights for three days, interrogated mercilessly.  The upper brass was certain that she knew more than she was letting on.  She didn't.  She had been fooled as much as they.  Couldn't they see that?  She didn't mention that he had been her lover, had in effect gotten her pregnant.  If they discovered that, she would be thrown out on her ear.  She didn't want to be thrown out just yet.  She wanted the time and the opportunity to hunt "Keith" down and make him pay for what he had done to her and the agency that had trusted him._

_Feeling low, cheated, and like a used piece of shat on toilet paper, she sat and wondered how she would get herself out of her predicament.  She was carrying the child of a double agent, someone she now hated more than she hated anyone.  Abortion?  Adoption?  What could she do?  She couldn't have the child, could she?  If she had it, would she ever love it?  She put it completely out of her mind and pushed on.  She didn't think about the baby for several days, even while leaned over the toilet bowl puking her guts out.  She hid from it, didn't deal with it.  Slowly, Jonella Paxton was becoming "Pax," transforming into a hard-edged, gruff bitch who never wanted to be liked or touched or cared for.  Fuck everyone.  Fuck them all._

_By the time she made her decision about the baby, it was too late to do anything else other than have it.  Five months pregnant, pregnant enough to feel the child move inside her was a turning point of sorts.  She wasn't the mothering type, had never had an inkling or a desire to breed, but it was stunning to feel the movement, the slight tickling ripple.  She cried at night, wondering why the baby's father was such a prick.  She wanted to keep the baby, she did, but it wasn't practical with her job.  Then again, she didn't want to resent it because of "Keith."  God.  Why was she so stupid?  Why had she given in so fucking easily?  Why had she laid all her trust in that fucker?  All along, he played her, he knew exactly what he was doing, and he did it well.  Uh uh.  She would never let a man do that to her again.  Never.  She would keep the ball in her court.  If she couldn't, the game wouldn't be played at all.  Fuck them.  Fuck them all._

_When it became obvious that she was pregnant [at six months, she had begun to balloon like hell], her superiors forced her to take leave.  It didn't slip by them that her pregnancy coincided perfectly with the amount of time the double agent had been missing.  Whispers began to drift up to her ears.  She began to feel the same sense of distrust that she had experienced when they discovered the bastard's secrets.  They had never seen her with any other man.  It was blatantly obvious that "Keith" had fathered her child.  Quiet discussions of how they could get rid of her began to spring up.  It hurt, but what the fuck?  She didn't care.  Fuck them.  Fuck them all._

_The baby was born a bit late and seemed completely and totally healthy.  However, Pax was not.  The moment the baby was born, Pax began to hemorrhage.  She was losing blood at such an alarming rate that it made her pass out.  She knew nothing, heard nothing but the shouted commands of hospital personnel.  When she awoke, she was laid out in a recovery room with a young nurse attending.  As soon as she regained consciousness, the nurse left the room to retrieve the doctor.  It was then that she was given the bad news.  The bleeding couldn't be stopped without a complete hysterectomy.  They expected her to throw a fit, to bawl, squall, and rage against it.  Instead, she took the news as if they had just told her she had an ingrown toenail.  The idea of never being able to have another child didn't disturb her.  She actually hadn't wanted children, hadn't wanted this child.  She was too fucking selfish for that.  It was depressing, of course, but not something that would send her into a complete suicidal state.  When asked if she wanted to see her baby, she answered with a firm 'no.'  Pax didn't want to hold the infant, didn't want to see it.  All she wanted was to sign the adoption papers and have done with it.  However, the young nurse refused to honor Pax's request.  She brought the baby to her anyway.  Pax cried a little.  Why the hell had they done this to her?  Why had they shown her the baby?  She couldn't give it up after seeing it.  Goddamn.  Why?  She had given birth to a boy.  It was too soon to tell for sure, but she saw the skin tone and the thatch of hair on his head.  He would look like his father, but she didn't care.  He was hers.  He belonged to no one else.  She named her son Leathan.  Motherhood was a struggle, a challenge, but she had never backed down from anything, and she wouldn't back down from this, not for a second._

_Alone, she raised her child, making many mistakes along the way, but she loved her boy, and never made any connections with his father.  It was true the boy looked like him [with the exception of his eyes], but he was sweet and loving, without a selfish bone in his body.  She had no idea where he had inherited that particular trait; it certainly didn't come from her.  When Lee turned two, Pax was sent on a special assignment.  Her superiors had yet to find a way to fire her, but they always gave her the shitty jobs, perhaps waiting to see if she would quit on her own accord.  She brought her son along.  He had no one else.  It would prove to be another fatal mistake, one that would haunt her forever.  _

_During her night moves, she and a dozen other agents were watching a group of arms dealers.  They were to break up the operation and take as many men alive as possible.  She watched with a gaped open mouth as two men came out into the clear.  One of them was Keith, the other an Iranian immigrant.  Dear God, she hadn't thought of Keith in over two years and he was right in fucking front of her.  She thought of her son and knew that she would have to get back to him quickly.  If Keith heard of the child, she didn't want to think about what he'd do.  They followed their orders and broke into the group, having a fatal shootout, killing several bad guys and losing three or four good agents.  Pax ended up in a face-to-face showdown with Keith.  He smiled when he recognized her.  **Jomfruen** [the virgin], he had said.  She trained her gun on him and was readying to pull the trigger when a sudden sharp pain stopped her.  Goddamn.  She'd been hit.  A bullet from Keith's buddy had embedded itself in her leg.  He was moving to blow to her brains out until he was cut down by a semi-auto blast.  Keith took off running, the fucking coward that he was._

_Patched up, Pax returned to her hotel room, to the comfort and love of her little boy.  His face lit up at the sight of her.  She knew no one would ever love her as much as her son.  She hugged him to her gently and carried him to the sofa.  There, they fell asleep together.  The startled cry of her son was what awakened her a few hours later.  She came awake suddenly, fighting, but a harsh right cross caught her in the jaw.  When she recovered, she noticed that her attacker was Keith, and he had her son._

_"Do what you want to me, but don't hurt him," she shouted, ending her words with a plea.  She cringed at the way Keith was holding the boy.  He was holding him loosely in his arms as if he were a sack of potatoes.  "Please, Keith, take me instead.  Put my son down."_

_He glared at her through his hard, cold black eyes.  "Your son?  Isn't he **our **son, **jomfru** [virgin]?  Very beautiful boy he is.  Cries too much."_

_"Don't take him, you fucker," she shouted.  "Take me."_

_"I did, and I want no more of you."_

_He left with her screaming child and for the first time, Pax felt helpless.  Goddamn it.  What had her sweet little boy done to deserve this?  She ran after them, down the stairs, into the lobby, and out of the hotel.  Keith ran into the busy traffic with the boy in his arms.  Pax screamed when she heard the screeching of tires and saw Keith freeze.  Saving himself, he tossed the baby out and over, as if he were a large football.  She heard the thud his little body made as it hit the pavement.  Keith escaped as a car barreled down on her son, putting his light out forever._

_Jonella Paxton had a complete mental break after that.  She was useless to everyone around her for many, many months.  She took time off to heal and to get her shit together.  It took longer than she ever thought it would.  She would go to bed at night and hear the screeching tires, the screams.  After she had taken all the solitude she could, she requested a transfer and another assignment.  Her superiors were reluctant, but they granted her request after extensive psychological testing had proven her mentally fit.  Her first assignment after the death of her child was one in the far reaches of the South American jungle.  There was no way she could ever run into Keith again, not in that setting.  It wasn't his style.  She met her new partner, another senior agent, who actually hadn't had that much time in himself.  Frank Donovan.  When she saw him, she wondered if she were being tested.  There were differences, of course, but the man resembled Keith.  Witless witless fuck.  She would hate this man, make his life hell, and do it on purpose._

_Two days in the jungle, and their orders had been handed down.  Drug smugglers.  Petty shit.  Routine stuff, shit that shouldn't even be CIA related.  However, there was talk of governmental officials being involved.  Whatever.  She was with her new partner, who turned out to be nothing like Keith.  He was a pushy fuck, domineering her, acting as if he were her father.  It wouldn't be hard hating this fuck, even if she liked his eyes and his funky accent.  He was fun to play with, fun to goad, and the distraction kept her mind off other things.  He wasn't half bad, but she was leery.  She had trusted a man before, but she'd never trust another.  Once they had their sights on their targets, Pax began to check them out.  She made out three or four figures, Colombians from the looks of them.  When she picked up her binoculars, she gasped.  Donovan looked at her sharply, wondering what had emitted such a response from this cold ass heifer.  Keith.  Fucking Keith._

_"I want the tall one, Spankie.  The tall one with the black eyes."_

_"Black eyes?  What the hell?  Stop the Spankie shit, please, it's degrading."_

_"Fuck you, Spankie.  You will let me have the one with black eyes.  Got it?"_

_As it turned out, no one got the tall one with black eyes.  From that day on, for the next two weeks, both she and Donovan had run-ins with this particular group.  Keith had come back to haunt her after all.  During maneuvers, both Pax and Donovan were surprised by unelicited gunfire from somewhere above.  The shots rang out, taking care of several members of Keith's gang, but not Keith himself._

_"Fucking Death Angels," Donovan growled._

_"Death Angels," Pax asked, intrigued._

_Shit.  He had said too much, had given more than he should have.  The crazy woman beside him was still green.  "Assassins."_

**_Assassins_**_.  The word rang beautifully in her mind.  Keith was untouchable, it seemed.  They had discovered he was a government official in Bolivia; his ties had gotten him the power he craved.  If she were to become involved with that squad, would it help her seek the revenge she desired?  She wanted to see Keith's eyes as she blew him away.  "Who controls them?"_

_Donovan gave her an incredulous look.  "What the hell?  Pax, forget it.  It's not for you.  Now shut the fuck up and move."_

_She moved, but she hadn't shut the fuck up.  On her own, she found Robert Weizmulder.  Oh yes.  She was suited for it and she would do it.  She would do it for her son. _


	3. Later That Day

LATER THAT DAY

Pax came awake slowly, grumbling under her breath.  She sighed a little.  She had been fucking dreaming again.  When would it go away?  There was no clock in the room, but she saw Frankie's wristwatch on the nightstand.  She reached for it and glanced at it.  _Jesus jumping Christ on a fucking camel_.  His watch had to be wrong.  It couldn't be three in the afternoon.  Why had he let her sleep so fucking long?  She had missed her damn makeup flight.  What would she do now?  Slowly, she pushed herself up to a sitting position.  She was still stripped naked and couldn't see her clothing anywhere.  Where the fuck was her suitcase?  Had she carried it in last night?  She couldn't remember.  Too goddamn many vodka tonics at the bar.  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.  After her flight was called, she ran to meet it, but she didn't go out.  She noticed that Frankie had lingered.  She didn't want him to see her just yet.  When she saw him walk away, she darted over to the bar.  She had made a conscious choice to stick around.  But why?  He had fucking told her he loved her, that was why.  Goddamn.  Why had he done that?  She had fallen for that shit hook, line, and sinker.  How many people in her lifetime had told her they loved her?  Not very damn many.  Jonella Paxton wasn't a fucking lovable person.  Goddamn, fuck, shit.  She had entangled herself in a gushy, mushy web.  How would she escape it now?  In the past, she had relied on his princess to chase her off.  Now that the princess was temporarily out of the picture, what excuse did she have to cling to?  Jesus.  She wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to give over again, not after what happened before.  _No.  I will not think of that.  I will not think of that ever again_.  She jerked the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her.  She didn't think the kid would appreciate seeing a naked woman running around her father's apartment, especially one not related to her.  

Pax padded out of the bedroom in her bare feet and she noticed that Frankie had dragged her suitcase inside.  Was he anticipating her to stay longer than a couple of days?  She wouldn't stay more than that, she _couldn't_.  She peeked around in each room, but didn't see anyone.  She padded back around to the kitchen and noticed that the witless fuck and made a pot of coffee for her.  He was witless, but thoughtful.  Goddamn him.  He wasn't making anything easy on her, was he?  Why should he start now?  He had never made it easy on her in the first place.  Before she decided to partake of the coffee, she went back to the living room and retrieved her suitcase.  She needed a long, hot shower.  She could literally smell sex all over her.  Not that it was bad or anything, but it made her awfully horny.  The cologne she always complained about was what she liked best about Frankie, and it was all over her skin, in the sheet wrapped around her, and in the fucking room.  God.  She couldn't let herself get swept away again.  It would lead to more trouble, more heartache.  She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and popped it open.  She dug out some clothing and laid it out on the bed.  She turned and went into the bathroom, turning the water all the way to hot.  Two days.  No more than that.  No more.  No more.  She couldn't take it.  She stepped under the scalding hot spray and felt immediately invigorated.  She hated washing Frankie's scent off her, but she supposed it would get on her again and again.  _God.  Stop thinking about it.  It can't happen.  It can't_.  How the fuck did she think she could face him after last night?  She hadn't given way like that since…  _Shit.  Go away.  Please go away_.  She grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed a small amount in her hand.  She stared at the clear liquid for a few moments.  What the fuck was happening to her?  Did admitting her love for the witless fuck bring all these feelings in?  If she had known that would have been the case, she wouldn't have done it.  Or would she?  She had wanted Donovan back then, especially after she got to know him, but the hurt was so fresh, the grief still very strong.  She was still staring at the shampoo when she felt a pair of hands clamp down on her shoulders.

"_Shit_," she cried.  "Don't you know not to do that?  I could have fucking taken you out."

"Really _jomfru _[virgin]?"

Sheer terror entered her body, tightening it like a wire.  She turned around; ready to throttle the man, but when she turned around, no one was there.  Shit.  She sighed and breathed deeply until her larruping heart calmed down.  She put the shampoo to her hair and scrubbed vigorously.  God.  She was fucked up.  Completely fucked up.  If she made it out of Chicago sane, it would be a miracle.  Why hadn't she just gotten on the fucking plane?  Maybe if she rushed her shower, she could get out of here before Frankie returned.  If not, he wouldn't let her go.  _Since when do you let someone tie you down_?  Since never.  She quickly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and the soap off her body.  Rushing around, probably looking like an idiot, she jumped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.  Like a woman possessed, she dried her body off as quickly as possible.  When she barreled into the bedroom a few moments later, she gasped.  Donovan was sitting on the freshly made bed, gazing at her curiously.  She wondered if he sensed what she had been about to do.  God.  She hated it when he looked at her like that.  She couldn't read him.  His smoky eyes burned into her, seemingly trying to touch her soul, uncover her secrets, secrets she wanted kept buried.  He knew what she was trying to do, and before the day ended, he would make her admit it.  She held the towel up to her naked body protectively, dying to step around him, but he wouldn't let her skirt him.  No fucking way.  She was trapped again.

"Jonella, why are you in such a hurry," he asked, his voice low and demanding.  "Were you expecting me to stay out longer than I did?"  He noticed she said nothing, she continued to cringe against the bathroom door, holding the towel up to her body, not realizing that it covered nothing.  She was too damn tall.  "I brought your suitcase in as you can see and I'm ashamed to say it, but I did go through it.  Considering our past relationship, I thought it was warranted that I invade your privacy.  I felt a little guilty about that at first until I saw you ripping out of the bathroom.  You have rotating tickets, Pax, when did you intend to leave?  Today?  Tomorrow?"  He laughed bitterly, sardonically.  "Why am I drawn to women who love running away?"  He sighed.  "So, what's your excuse this time?  Do you have one?  Or are you going to bullshit me?"

"You're good at digging, Frank.  Why don't _you_ tell _me_?"  She dropped the towel and approached the bed.  Her clothing was laid out on the side opposite Donovan.  With his eyes on her the entire time, she dressed slowly, putting herself together piece by piece until her body was covered properly.  When she tore open the suitcase, why hadn't she noticed that the fucking plane tickets had been shuffled around?  Of course he would pilfer through her shit.  Had she wanted him to do it?  Had she wanted this confrontation?  Did she want to be stopped?  Goddamn it.  Once fully clothed, she turned to look at Donovan.  He had yet to take his eyes off her.  The stupid fuck was expecting an answer.  "I wasn't…"

The words had barely left her mouth before he was on her like a shot.  He grabbed her wrist and took advantage of the height difference.  Thank God she hadn't put on those ridiculous fucking boots.  "Bullshit is your choice.  Back to your old self I see."  He stared down at her, holding her hostage with his eyes [_Those damn fucking sexy eyes_].  He wouldn't let her go.  "What is it," he asked.  "What is motivating you now?  Remy is gone, she can't be your excuse.  I've made it clear how I feel about you, so that can't be your excuse.  You came back and did so for a reason, so there must be something inside you, some feeling.  I've heard the words, Pax, heard them twice.  Do you really feel it?  Do you?  So, tell me, what's your excuse?  No more bullshit."          

"Do you have to know every fucking thing about me, Frank?  Can I not have something inside that you do not know?  Is it allowed?  Do I really know everything about you?  Back off, okay?  This shit is new for me and I'm not sure what I should be doing.  You don't know how the hell it feels, now do you?  Have you ever been alone for five fucking minutes in your life?  Have you ever not had a lover?  Some ditzy princess at your beck and call?  I know the answer to that, Frankie, I really do.  You have never had to be without somebody.  Guys like you are never alone for long.  I got scared because I fucking don't know what the hell is happening.  Haven't you ever been scared?  I spent so much time hating your guts, but not hating you.  Back off.  I fucked up and I'm sorry."

"What I'm about to say is going to piss you off and you'll probably punch me out, but I'm ready for whatever you have coming.  I understand fear, I know it, but you know what?  I don't believe you for one second.  I know there's something else, because I see it.  I'm not your father or your boss or your priest.  You can walk out that door any time you please and I won't stop you.  Just don't sneak out on me, don't hide, do it out in the open.  I told you once, but I'll repeat it.  Some day, you will tell me.  You will, because I won't ever leave you alone until you do.  Remember that.  Know it.  Live it."

If she had had the energy, she would have punched the fucker right out.  Smug bastard.  He deserved a fat lip and a bloody nose.  However, she _didn't_ have the energy.  When he finished glaring at her menacingly, he released her and backed away.  He turned toward the bedroom door and let himself out.  If she had had anything in her hand, she would have thrown it at him.  She knew he meant every word he said, every single damn word.  She went over to her suitcase and snapped it closed.  She wanted to go back into the living room, but she was a little afraid he'd ambush her or something.  She never knew what to expect with Frankie.  She didn't intend to stay, she couldn't lie about that, but she could lie about the manner in which she'd leave.  She wouldn't tell him, she wouldn't let him know.  If she did, he could find her, and she didn't want to be found.  She didn't think he'd be ballsy enough to follow her.  He fucking didn't care enough.  _He told you he loves you.  How much more do you need_?  Did she want his love?  Did she deserve it?  She shook it off and hauled her suitcase back into the living room.  Frankie was on the couch, seemingly engrossed in a newspaper.  He wasn't paying her one iota of attention.  She dropped the suitcase at the far end of the couch and entered the kitchen.  If she didn't get some coffee in her system, she might die from caffeine withdrawal.  She had barely gotten a cup poured for herself when Donovan entered the room.  He stood staring at her again, contemplating his next move.  She almost felt the need to get into some kind of defensive stance.  What the fuck was he going to do?  Handcuff her to the fucking kitchen counter?  She didn't want her back turned on him.  She didn't trust him.  She turned and leaned against the counter close to the kitchen sink.  If he made one sudden move, she had plenty of weapons at her disposal.  _Come on, you witless fuck, make your move.  I can match you.  I can kick your ass any time._

Donovan moved toward the kitchen table.  He was still far enough away for her to launch a counterattack.  There were glasses, plates, and tons of forks and knives.  Perfect.  All of it was well within reach.  She sipped her coffee, but kept her eyes fixed on him.  He wouldn't surprise her.  Whatever he had in store for her, she was ready for it.  Tensing her body just slightly, she began to control her breathing.  Slow and easy.  In and out.  Inhale through the nose.  Exhale through the mouth.  He cleared the kitchen table and came directly toward her.  Her first weapon:  a full cup of hot coffee.  An ambush attack.  He'd appreciate that.  When he stepped up to her, she saw an intense burning in his eyes.  Oh yeah.  He was getting ready to fucking beat her up.  Not this time.  She was readying to splash him with the coffee when he reached out and touched her hand.  The gentle touch startled her, causing her to gasp.  Covert moves?  What was this?  He took the cup out of her hand and set it aside.  His hand came up and stroked her cheek.  Oh.  Sneaky.  She knew he had other plans in mind the moment he brought his lips down to hers.  Jesus.  He had learned a move that she couldn't quite defeat, one that definitely didn't have a counterstrike.  A moment ago, he wanted to throttle her, but now he wanted to kiss her?  Jesus, he was fucking moody.  She didn't mind.  She didn't mind at all.

In short order, the gentle kiss deepened and his hand plunged into her wet hair.  God.  He was so aggressive, not allowing her to take one single breath.  She didn't want him to take her in the kitchen, around all this shit.  What if she broke something?  Would he forgive her?  He broke the consuming kiss and his lips moved down to the side of her throat.  Her skin smelled fresh and clean, felt amazingly soft.  He had never noticed these little things about her before.  Funny how a few eye opening moments brought everything in clear, sharp focus.  She threw her head back a little as she felt his nimble fingers working their way up under her blouse.  He had barely touched her and she felt her nipples getting rock hard.  The moment his hand cupped her breast, she sighed against his lips.  He genuinely liked this side of her, oh yes he did.  In the last few weeks, she had become an almost different person altogether.  There were still small particles of her old self lingering, but he hoped he could chase some of that out.  He didn't want her to change completely, because he also liked the difficult part of her as well.  His other hand snaked around to cup her buttocks and he brought her body closer against his.  God.  She was completely immobilized.  How the fuck could he continue to do this to her?  Oh he was good.  He was so damn good.  Oh so damn good.  He slid his hand out of her blouse, running his fingers along her ribs as he did.  His other hand stayed right where it was, squeezing, crushing, grinding.  He drew back just the slightest bit to gaze down at her.  He noticed that she had yet to put on her boots.  Maybe while she slept, he could sneak them out and burn them.  His free hand came back up to her cheek again.  She wondered if anyone had ever told him that he began his lovemaking with his eyes.  He was asking her what she wanted without speaking a word.  He could let her go right then and there, or he could take her to bed and make love to her.  He was giving her the choice.  Stupid fucker.  She had thought a thousand times that he didn't know what he was getting himself into.  The stubborn fucker wouldn't speak, he wouldn't tell her a damn thing.  Oh hell no.  She didn't like being confused.  She didn't like it at all.  

She took a deep breath and reached behind her to remove his hand.  The action surprised him a little.  He seemed to have gotten an answer he wasn't expecting.  She slipped out from beneath him and moved around.  For a frustrated moment, he leaned against the kitchen sink.  Damn her.  He would let her go.  She had made her choice and he fucking refused to beg her to stay.  As she moved a bit further away, she reached out and took hold of his arm, her hand slipping into his.  He shook his head incredulously.  She had played him again.  He chuckled.  He would find a way to pay her back and he had a few ideas running through his mind right now.  She led him to his bedroom, to the bed that had pristine sheets on it.  Damn shame they were about to mess it up again.  Why had she bothered getting dressed?  Why had she bothered getting out of bed?

Today, he was gentle.  Last night, he had made love to her twice, hungrily, almost brutally with animalistic lust.  Right now, his hands were probing but lightly touching.  His kisses were demanding but soft.  During one of his demanding/soft kisses, he went to work undressing her.  How he could do two things like that at once she'd never know.  She had to concentrate on one thing at a time, but she basically let him have his way with her.  She couldn't fight him away, not when he was like this.  Her blouse was gone, as was her bra, as was her skirt and panties.  He was quite the fast mover, quite the stripping machine.  But as usual, he was still fully clothed.  She went to the bed and came down upon it, waiting for him to join her.  He did, but not until he stripped himself.  Goddamn.  He was incredible looking.  Everything so taut and beautiful.  Goddamn.  If he didn't get over to her soon, she'd jump him.  He came over to the bed, leaning over her and he kissed her again.  The moment was shattered completely by the shrill ring of the phone.

"If you answer that," Pax said, "I'll fucking break your fingers."

He laughed.  "I won't.  I need my fingers."

"Yes, you sure as shit do."

His lips descended down on hers again as he began to put his fingers to work.  After four annoying rings, the answering machine kicked on.  Donovan reached over to silence the machine when a familiar voice kicked out of the tinny speaker.  Remy.  Pax sighed a little.  Was she annoyed or jealous?

"Talk to your princess, Frank," she said.

Reluctantly, he reached over and picked up the receiver before she hung up.  "Hello," he said.

"Frank?  What's wrong?  You sound a little breathless."

He closed his eyes.  Of course he was breathless, he was about to make love to Pax and his ex-wife had rudely interrupted him.  Jesus Christ, his life was becoming a soap opera.  "Is anything wrong," he asked, completely skirting her comment.

"No, not particularly.  I called to let you know I landed safely and I'm staying at the Gold Ring Hotel."  He listened vaguely as she gave him information about her room number, the phone number, etc.  "You sound annoyed."

"Annoyed," he said.  "I was in the middle of something."

"Damn straight you were," Pax said, none too quietly.  "I think you were in the middle of me, weren't you Frank?"

He stared down at her.  _What the hell were you thinking_, his look said.  He covered her mouth with his hand and shook his head firmly.  One more word out of her mouth and she'd be sleeping alone tonight.

"Oh," Remy said shortly.  "Sorry I interrupted.  I suppose I'll let you get back to it and I'll call later."

Donovan heard a loud click in his ear.  He tossed the phone over to the nightstand, not caring if it hit it or not.  "What was that," he demanded.

"You need to know something about me right now, Frank.  I'm possessive.  Get used to it," she said.

"I should throw you out on the street," he said, his voice taking on a dark, menacing tone.

"Yes, you should.  But you won't, will you?"

"No.  Never."

Donovan kissed her again and finished what he started.           


	4. Time To Go

TIME TO GO

Early the next morning after Donovan had taken care of the needs of his daughter, he grabbed the phone in the living room.  He winced at the steady 'wah wah wah' in his ear.  Yesterday, he must have knocked it off the hook.  He reentered the bedroom and found the receiver lying on the floor.  He had forgotten to pick it up.  Groaning inwardly, he picked it up and placed it back on its cradle.  He glanced over at Pax.  She was sleeping deeply, seemingly dreaming, and he shook his head incredulously.  He wasn't as angry with her as he should have been.  What she had done was petty, uncouth, and downright vicious, but wasn't there also a modicum of truth to it?  Hadn't he subconsciously made a choice?  Why was he bullshitting himself and his ex-wife?  Dear Jesus, as much as what Remy had done irritated him, she hadn't exactly deserved that yesterday, had she?  Damn it.  Why was he so fucking torn between two women?  A thought entered his mind, one that had plagued him since he first realized he loved Jonella Paxton:  _fucking women, they will be the death of me_.  He went back into the living room.  Despite the vague way he was listening to her yesterday, Donovan still remembered the name of the hotel.  After a few phone calls, he had the number to the Gold Ring Hotel.  

"Yes, hello," Remy said sleepily.

"Remy, it's Frank."  On the other end of the line, he heard a sharp intake of breath.  She seemed shocked to hear from him.  He could almost see her, could almost imagine how close she was to hanging up on him.  Perhaps he deserved it.  He had been less than honest with her for weeks, toying with her almost.  "Please don't hang up.  I need to talk to you, I need to apologize for yesterday."

"_You_ need to apologize?  No, your girlfriend should have that job, Frank.  Actually, I'm glad I called and heard that, it's become clearer and clearer to me that you've made your choice.  She can't stay away and you're not helping that, are you?  You take her in every time.  That's all right.  I can't say I'm not hurt, but I'm also not surprised, either.  In a way, I'm glad this has happened.  It has convinced me to work even harder to find a place.  I told you I wouldn't ever take Anastasia away from you, but if I wind up leaving Chicago, I'm taking her with me, Frank."

He chuckled bitterly; the sound was humorless and filled with complete and utter ire.  A few moments ago, he had felt guilty and ashamed.  But right now, he would have paid Pax to wisecrack something.  "You're not taking her away, but you're taking her with you?  Isn't that the same thing?  Don't hurt our daughter because you're angry with me.  What is going on in this crazy triangle has nothing to do with her.  Keeping her away from me is punishing her, don't you understand?  Take your bitterness, hurt, and anger out on me, not her.  Did you only leave her with me because you thought I'd come back to you?  Was that your only reason?  Were you playing games?  Tell me, Remy, make me understand."

"I'm not arguing with you about this on the phone.  I'll be in touch."

She hung up in his ear.  He gritted his teeth angrily and was tempted to throw the phone across the room.  She was playing him, using him, and he fucking didn't like that.  He had no idea that Pax had been standing at the open bedroom door listening to the one-sided conversation.  She saw the anger and anguish, had heard the hurt in his voice.  Damn it.  This shit was her fault.  He would lose his child because of her, she couldn't let that happen.  She knew the agony of losing a child and she didn't want him to experience the grief, the pain.  He didn't deserve it.  Pax ached to get her hands around the princess' throat.  How fucking dare the dolt do this to him.  Even if it was her fault, the bitch shouldn't have decided to fight unfairly.  Children weren't items one could use as collateral.  Didn't she fucking understand that?  She stood stock-still and watched Donovan for a few minutes.  His hand was grasping the phone so tightly that his knuckles were white.  Goddamn.  Look at the shit she had done to him, the pain she had caused.  Miami was beckoning her even harder than ever before.  Perhaps if she disappeared, the princess would come back to Chicago and stop using his daughter against him to get her way.  She turned and went back into the bedroom, but not before Donovan saw her.

Gaining control of himself little by little, he put the phone down and reentered the bedroom.  Pax had crawled back into bed and was trying desperately to feign sleep.  She couldn't hide from him, but she would damn well try.  Yesterday, she had annoyed him to no end, but he still made love to her, still held her through the night.  She was crass, but couldn't really help it.  He wondered how many times she had actually felt love in her life?  She had nearly told him everything about her upbringing, but she never mentioned lovers, husbands, or whatever.  Inside this gruff annoying as hell bitch lurked a vulnerable child.  Although he was fully dressed, he climbed into bed behind her.  When she felt his body touching hers, she made a small sound in her throat.  He smiled a little and pulled her hair over to the side so he could place a soft kiss on her ear.  He knew she'd been faking; it was simply a matter of time before she moved.  She sighed as if saying 'I'm caught.'

"You heard that, didn't you," he asked, his voice falling down into her ear.  "You can tell me, it's okay.  I saw you briefly at the bedroom door."

"Yeah, I heard," she said.  "I'm a pathetic loser bitch who doesn't know when to keep her fucking mouth shut.  I'm sorry, Frankie, I'm fucking everything up for you.  I should have gotten on that plane.  I should have.  I should have never told you how I felt.  I should have left.  I should have fucking left."

"You got one thing right.  You don't know how to keep your mouth shut," he said with his little smile still on his lips.  "You could have gotten on the plane, you could have left, but one or the other of us would have shown up sooner or later.  One thing you need to know is that I missed you when you left.  I missed you and didn't want to see you go, but I knew you had to leave.  I'm glad you told me how you felt, because I would have eventually beaten it out of you anyway."

"In your dreams, you witless fuck," she said.  "You couldn't whip me on your best day.  Get off me so I can go back to sleep.  Cut the mush, I'm getting nauseous."

Before he moved totally away, he gave her ass a loud smack.  "I love you, too."

*  *  *

Pax stood in the kitchen contemplating whether or not she needed a third cup of coffee.  If she didn't knock off the caffeine, she'd end up with an ulcer.  From the living room, she could hear Frankie and his kid coming in from the hallway.  They had been playing at the park and had just come back.  She hadn't been around the kid much since she arrived.  In fact, she had only seen the little girl in passing a couple of times.  It was difficult for her looking at the child.  It wasn't that she resembled her boy, but she was the same age as Lee when his yellow assed father allowed him to be run down like a dog in busy traffic.  Since then, she hadn't had much to do with children.  She kept an ugly attitude toward them and most kids sensed it and left her alone.  She didn't want another little person to steal her heart.  It was closed off, locked away, and gone.  She was surprised she had it in her to love Frank.  Shit.  She had to find time to get out and away.  She didn't want him losing his child.  She wished she could tell him, but she couldn't.  She had the words locked away inside her and nothing short of torture would bring them to the surface.  

She held her breath when she heard the kitchen door swinging open, and she wound up dropping a spoon on the floor.  Donovan entered carrying his squirming daughter.  He set her on her feet and she stopped short of the kitchen table.  She gazed up at the strange lady in front of the kitchen sink.  She had never seen this woman before.  In her short life, she knew few people:  Daddy, Mommy, Auntie Ren, Grammy, and Grampy.  This lady was new.  She goggled up at the lady and noticed that she had a lot of hair.  Pax turned around slowly and gazed down at the child.  Unlike most children, she seemed more fascinated than terrified.  Anastasia Donovan [_pretentious name…five bucks says the princess named her_] was a beautiful little girl.  Although just two, she had lots of curly blonde hair that framed her little cherubic face.  Her eyes were violet and sparkling.  She definitely looked like her mother, but she didn't seem quite as timid.  On the outside, she was Remy.  Inside, she was all Donovan.  As small as she was, she would be fairly easy to keep tabs on, but once she grew older, look out.  She could see Frankie's smug stubbornness radiating from the child's eyes.  What a perfect blend.

After her curiosity died down, Stasia turned away from the tall lady and flopped down on the floor.  For a moment, she examined the spoon that Pax dropped.  She picked it up and began popping it on the floor.  An imaginative child, she could take a spoon and have her own little adventure.  Donovan had watched the exchange almost as curiously as his daughter had stared up at Pax.  There was something in her eyes, something that made him feel a bit edgy.  He couldn't quite read it, but it looked like grief.  Was that what it was?  He wanted to explore that with her, find out why she had stared down at his daughter in such a way.  He had never seen anything like that in her eyes.  He leaned over and picked up Stasia.  She was a little irritated that he had taken her away from her magical spoon.  He carried her back into the living room.  

Pax released a deep breath.  She turned toward the sink and gripped the edge of it.  Dear God.  She was glad he had removed the kid from her presence.  She didn't know how long she would have been able to look at her without thinking of Lee.  She turned back around and noticed that the spoon was still lying on the floor.  Sighing a little, she bent over and picked it up.  She almost threw it into the sink, but hesitated.  She listened to the little girl in the other room, seemingly destroying something from the sound of it.  She entered the living room and noticed that Donovan was down in the floor with his daughter.  She was apparently trying to take his cell phone from him.  Stasia looked up when the strange lady entered the room and she noticed that she held her magical spoon.  

Pax approached the child and bent down in front of her.  "Want your spoon?"

She pulled her little body up to her feet clumsily and toddled over to the lady.  "For me," she asked wondrously.

"Sure, if you want it," Pax said.

Stasia took the spoon from Pax's outstretched hand and uttered words that sounded vaguely like 'thank you.'  She toddled back over to where her father lay, and she forgot all about Daddy's cell phone.  Again, Donovan watched the exchange.  It was almost painful.  It seemed as if Pax had virtually forced herself to approach his daughter.  As soon as Stasia carried her spoon away, Pax stood and went back toward the bedroom.  She couldn't take it anymore.  The brief exchange was like torture to her.  She sat on the side of the bed and threw off her shoes.  She caressed the bottom of her left foot.  The night her son died, she had run out barefoot into the traffic.  She had stepped on a shard of glass and it sliced her foot open.  She had fucking bled all over the place.  Of course, she hadn't bled nearly as much as…  _Uh uh.  Stop it, Pax, stop it right now_.  Today, her foot was aching miserably, and the only way to get rid of the pain was to massage it.  On days like these, she often wished she had kept at least one picture of her son, but she hadn't been mentally able to do that, and she wasn't certain she could handle it today.  God.  If she could just get her hands around Keith's fucking throat, she would make the bastard pay.  He still roamed free, the coward who sacrificed his son's life to live.  _Fucking bastard.  If I knew where you were, I'd hunt you down like a fucking dog_.

*  *  *

With trepidation and a bit of iciness, Renata agreed to keep an eye on Stasia so that Donovan could check in at work.  From the look on his ex-sister in-law's face, she must have been talking to Remy.  However, it wouldn't have bothered Donovan one bit if Renata refused, but she didn't.  Despite it all, she loved her niece.  He arrived at the nest later that afternoon and felt grateful not to see anything going.  Most of the work being done was on pending cases.  After finishing off the vice president's insanity, things had slowed down a bit.  He could sense the eyes of his agents on him, but he didn't acknowledge.  They were full of questions.  He had been missing for a day and a half, an extreme rarity for him.  They could see he was distracted, and he was.  He hadn't felt comfortable leaving Pax alone.  He was still worried that she would run off for whatever reason she felt relevant.  He'd tried talking to her earlier, but she wouldn't budge.  She simply sat on the side of the bed, massaging her left foot.  He hadn't noticed before, but she had a scar almost all the way across the arch of her foot.  He'd wanted to ask about that, but figured she'd remain close mouthed about that, too.  Goddamn it.  The woman _would_ talk to him.  

Donovan looked up when Cody groaned.  He was staring at his screen, apparently reading something that disturbed him.  Usually, he avoided whatever Cody was doing, but this time, he was interested.  Later, he would question his opinion about precognitive feelings.  He stepped soundlessly behind Cody and glanced at the monitor.  He was looking at a dark man with equally dark hair and black eyes.  There was something about the coldness in his eyes that seemed vaguely familiar to Donovan.  His name was Tore Raynor.  It meant nothing to him. 

"Who is that," Donovan asked suddenly.

Cody gagged on his gum.  "Jesus, Boss, how the hell do you do that?  Tore Raynor, pronounced as Torray for those listening.  He's some bigwig politician who was transplanted from South America.  He immigrated to the states about two years ago.  Fellow isn't a very nice guy.  He's been accused of a bunch of nasty shit, including extortion, treason, and arms dealing.  I was hoping that he wouldn't be the next bad guy on our priority list.  I'm sick of dealing with shady politicians.  Can we ignore this one if it comes to us, Boss?  Just once?"

Donovan shut out Cody's voice completely.  There was something about this man, something he didn't like.  He couldn't put a finger on it right away.  After a moment, it hit him.  _Goddamn_.  He was staring at Keith Ahiga.  He was the black-eyed man Pax was obsessed with killing before she joined the Death Angels.  He didn't doubt that this man would become the team's next case.  He thought of Pax.  If she saw this, she would definitely flip.  He shoved it away, shoved it back into the dark recesses of his mind.  If Pax knew they would have to work with this man, she would try to throw herself in the mix.  What the hell was her connection with him?  Why did she hate him so?  There had to be something.

"Cody," Donovan began.

He sighed.  "Don't say it.  Already on it.  But you're jumping the gun a little, aren't you?"

Donovan shook his head.  "I don't think so.  He'll eventually be ours, I'm sure of it."

Twenty minutes later, Cody said, "What I have isn't much.  We need CIA clearance to get the rest.  Seems he took your route, Boss."

He shook his head and ran his hand thoughtfully over his mouth.  "I have the clearance.  If I don't, I can get it.  They owe me."

After an hour, Cody had tons of stuff pulled up.  "Tore Raynor, a.k.a, Keith Ahiga, Norwegian immigrant, half Sioux Indian, became an operative fifteen years ago.  He was inducted straight out of college for his expertise with small machines and weaponry.  The man likes to build bombs.  How interesting.  Oh, and what a bad boy he is.  He was a double agent, working both sides of the fence.  He and his partner were stationed mostly in the Middle East, but had stints in other areas.  He fled after working out a deal with his Mid Eastern buddies on trade secrets and chemical weapons.  He liked building those as well."

"Partner," Donovan asked, "Anything on him?"

He tapped a few keys on his keyboard.  "Hang on, we'll see."  When the name popped up, both Cody and Donovan were surprised.  "Oh," Cody said.  "Looks like a her, Boss.  Your friend, Jonella Paxton.  That woman gets around, doesn't she?  Shows here that she was suspected of aiding Ahiga, but they couldn't prove it.  Anyway, seems that Ahiga calls Miami home now."

"Shit," Donovan growled.  "Thank you," he said, "I'll be back."

Donovan cursed mid-afternoon traffic as he made his way back toward his apartment building.  That was it.  Pax had some kind of connection to the man she so desperately wanted to kill.  Somehow, he didn't think it had anything to do with his status as a double agent.  She had been one of sorts, and she was no hypocrite.  There was something else, something more, and he intended to get the information from her one way or another.  Once he made it up to his apartment, he had a feeling that she had fled.  He was hoping it was a false premonition, but he knew it, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name.  He unlocked the front door.  The inside of the apartment was silent.  Knowing that she was gone, he still held onto the hope that she was still here.

"Jonella," he called.  Nothing.  _Goddamn her_.  "Pax?"  Still nothing.  "Pax if you're here, come out now."  

He moved into the bedroom and noticed that her suitcase was gone.  There was no note, no letter, nothing.  What the fuck did she think she was doing?  He knew where she had gone.  Miami.  She had gone to Miami.  At first, he had the 'fuck it' attitude.  He didn't care.  Let her go.  Fucking irritating woman.  However, he changed his mind after about fifteen seconds.  He would go to Miami, follow her there, and find out what the hell was going on.  He was afraid that she had somehow found out about Ahiga and had gone after him.

*  *  *

Jonella Paxton knew nothing of Keith Ahiga's new residence.  She had decided to go to Miami for other reasons, primarily to give Donovan his life back.  She didn't think he'd ever reunite with his princess, but he needed to be with his kid, and the bitch wouldn't let that happen as long as she was sharing Frankie's bed.  She couldn't imagine how pissed off Frankie would be once he saw her gone, but in the long run, he would thank her, especially as he kissed his child goodnight.

By the time Donovan made it to the airport, Pax's plane had been in the air for an hour.  He stood contemplating his next move.  He would go after her, but it wouldn't be easy finding her.  However, that had never stopped him before.  He had plans to make, a flight to arrange, and needed to call his parents, who also called Miami home. 


	5. Different Perspectives

DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES

Donovan packed his and Stasia's things as quietly and as quickly as possible.  While doing this, Stasia sat in the middle of the bed with her magical spoon.  He had no earthly idea what she found so fascinating about that damn spoon.  Any time he tried to take it away from her, she cried as if her best friend had died.  The moment he arrived home, he had made a couple of phone calls.  The first was to his ex-wife.  It was curt and forced, but basically he told her that he was taking their daughter to see his parents in Florida.  She hadn't sounded very pleased with that idea, but she didn't really argue, either.  The second call was to his parents.  They had only seen Stasia a few times since he and Remy had been married.  It was about damn time they saw her again.  Up until now, Stasia had primarily been exposed to Remy's family.  It had irritated Donovan when they were married, but it really bothered him now.  He shook it off.  His parents had been thrilled when they heard he and their granddaughter were coming for a visit.  He hadn't mentioned his ulterior motive, of course, but there were a few little things here and there he had never told his family.  Anneliese and Kane Donovan supported their son, but they'd have a hissy fit if they knew some of the things he had to do on a daily basis.  They weren't oblivious, of course, but they didn't know everything.  He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it mattered little.  They were thrilled to have him and Stasia and couldn't wait for their arrival.  

*  *  *

Tore Raynor, once known as Keith Ahiga in another life, had stationed himself in a nice luxury hotel suite.  In a few days, he would have a house, and then he could send for his wife and children.  They were still in Brazil waiting for word to come.  He glanced at an ice bucket with champagne.  He had always hated fucking champagne.  It was a pussy drink.  He wanted something harder.  Whiskey?  Scotch?  No, none of those.  He wanted vodka.  It was the only thing that would satisfy him.  Perhaps as soon as he caught his breath, he would order some from room service.  Every time he drank vodka, he thought of the _jomfru_ [virgin].  Of course, his lingering thoughts weren't anything close to gentle.  He had nothing but disgust for the woman.  He had used her mind as well as her body.  Actually, he hadn't planned to take her on that first night.  It was in the plan, but just not that soon.  He wasn't stupid.  He was aware that she had found him attractive.  She stared at him enough when she thought he wasn't looking.  He had had orders to seduce her, eventually, only to extract information from her.  However, she had been very tight-lipped about everything.  Either that, or she didn't know any more than he did.  Whatever the case, he had been a bit lonely and a lot horny.  He had lied about being married, of course, but he needed that back-story to gain sympathy from her, and it worked.  The _jomfru_ wasn't exactly his type of woman, but she was the only one available and in close proximity.  When he encountered her maidenhead, it had become an unexpected surprise, but a nice advantage.  He could easily rule her.  He would be her first, and she would fall all over herself to please him, to do exactly what he wanted.  Of course, he hadn't figured that she would be the exact opposite.

The more he took her, the further she seemed to drift from him.  What was his solution to that problem?  He began to take her more and more, spending as much time in bed with her as he could.  It had become a ridiculous ritual.  Night after night, she gave herself to him, and he tried his best to prod her, but she would not talk.  He often wondered if she saw some of his extracurricular activities.  If she did, she never said anything after they were spent and lying quietly in each other's arms.  Eventually, he grew tired of the game, tired of sleeping with her.  The fascination of her virginity had faded after the first dozen or so times he made love to her.  It became a chore.  She was a turn-off.  She had no 'good' qualities, not like a woman he would find attractive.  He didn't need someone like her sticking around.  Besides, he had other places to go, other people to see [as the old cliché goes].  

He stroked his chin for a moment.  When he left, he thought it amusing that she had been targeted as part of his double agent operation.  How wonderful.  That was another unexpected surprise.  He hadn't liked when she somehow weaseled out of it.  But what could he do?  He reached over and grabbed the champagne bottle.  He was too lazy to order his vodka and he needed a drink.  He popped the cork off the bottle and turned it up and drank deeply, dribbling champagne on his chin.  His thoughts were drawn to the child.  When did he find out about him?  He hadn't known the _jomfru_ was pregnant and probably wouldn't have cared if he did.  However, he had heard from some international grapevine that she gave birth to a boy.  His interest immediately grew.  A son.  The _jomfru_ had borne him a son.  He had always wanted a son.  He had made many plans and attempts to kidnap the boy, but none of them had been successful.  It was close to impossible to abduct the child of a CIA operative.  Yet, he had found a crack in that security hadn't he?  Upon first seeing the boy at a distance, he noticed that he looked just like him, but he had her eyes.  It didn't matter.  He had a son and he would damn well take him, letting his new wife raise him with the child she was carrying.  

Raynor hadn't counted on the _jomfru_ fighting him so vehemently.  What was he to do but run?  Run with his son?  She mattered very little to him.  He had come after his son and he wouldn't hesitate to gun her down.  But then the accident happened, the horridly tragic accident.  He hadn't meant to throw his son like that [or had he?].  He wasn't attached to the boy by any stretch of the imagination, but he was his son.  He had a biological connection.  He had tossed the child down, hoping only to bruise him just a bit so he could make another attempt later.  He had no idea he would be run down by traffic.  He had no idea at all.  He hadn't grieved the death of his son.  His wife gave him another six months later.  He gave little or no thought to the boy's mother.  She was completely inconsequential, a woman he had screwed and left behind.  Raynor never thought of her or the boy again.  

He was completely and thoroughly amazed to run into the _jomfru_ again.  By then, he had risen to power in South America thanks to his mid-east connections.  He had no idea the CIA was tailing him.  However, they had their own double agents in the field, and he was given a list of every single operative.  He saw her name and noticed she had a new partner.  He knew of her partner as well.  He had had dealings with him.  He could settle two scores at once.  Somehow, those plans were thwarted as well.  It didn't matter.  He knew how to skirt the CIA and their assassins.  He had many double agents protecting his interests.  Any time one was near him, he was immediately notified.  He had no worries, no fears.  He could live the good life and perhaps come to power in the states.  It would be a nice change of pace for him.  Now if he could just get his wife and children home to him.  He missed them very much.  Living alone didn't sit well with him.

*  *  *

Donovan stood outside the home of his parents with a smile on his face.  Although he hadn't been raised here, it still seemed like home.  The flight and the stress had exhausted him.  He had no idea how he would find Pax, but he had some time to think about that.  Leaving the bags outside for the time being, he carried his daughter to the front door.  He didn't have time to knock.  His mother burst out of the door with tears of joy streaming down her face.  Donovan felt a little embarrassed at her display of affection.  After all, it hadn't been _that _long since they'd seen him last.  His mother hadn't changed much.  Her long black hair was still shot with the same lodes of gray, her dark eyes shined with vitality, and she looked nowhere near her age of fifty-five.  Anneliese embraced her son and kissed his cheek before she turned her attention toward her granddaughter.  As with Pax, she took to this new person with curiosity and wonder.  She was kind of like Daddy in a way and Daddy seemed to like her fine.  She ushered her son and granddaughter inside.  It was particularly hot and humid that day.

As soon as they were inside, his mother told him to put the child down.  "Mom, she'll pilfer," he said.

She waved her hand dismissively.  "So?  She's two.  Let her pilfer.  Besides, you can't stand there and hold her all the time."

He shrugged.  "Okay, don't say I didn't warn you.  I thought you'd want to childproof your home first."  He set Stasia down on her feet and she began pilfering immediately.  "Where's Dad?"

"Getting something special for dinner.  We're making all your favorites."

Donovan sighed a little, but actually couldn't wait.  He could see it [and taste it] now:  T-bone steak, wild rice pilaf, a gigantic baked potato, and pecan pie.  Uh.  Just the thought of it made his stomach rumble.  Damn.  Despite the circumstances, it was good to be home.

"By the way," his mother called from the kitchen, "we've invited Graciela from next door.  She's a nice single girl.  Very young.  Loves children."

_Oh Jesus_.  "Mom, that isn't necessary.  Uh, I'm already…involved."  Could he call what he had with Pax 'involved?'  Could he?  Damn.  Just when he had started feeling normal, she had to enter his mind and sour him.  When he found her, he was going to make her life hell right before he made mad love to her.  "I don't think she'd appreciate my having a casual date.  She can be a little…possessive."

"Oh, is that right," she called again.  "I can't wait to meet her."

_Oh yes you can_.  He couldn't imagine bringing Jonella Paxton into his parents' home.  He had a feeling they hadn't really taken to Remy, and she was nothing like Pax.  How the hell would they react to her?  He caressed the nape of his neck and sighed a little.  He needed a shower and some rest, because after he settled a bit, he was going to find Pax one way or another.

*  *  *

That evening after putting Stasia down for the night [her grandparents had worn her out], Donovan sat up with his mother and father, listening to various stories of family goings on.  As with his mother, he noticed that very little had changed about his father.  People often said that Kane Donovan was an older version of him, but he didn't see it.  During their conversation, his parents didn't mention his and Remy's divorce once.  He was more than grateful for that.  He knew they were curious, but they completely respected his boundaries.  Around two that morning, Donovan excused himself and slipped into the guest room they had prepared for him.  He took a long shower in the hottest water he could stand and felt it working the tenseness out of his back.  When he stepped out and toweled off, he hit the sheets _au natural_, but then remembered where he was.  Shaking his head a little, he dug a pair of pajama bottoms out of his suitcase and slipped into them before getting into bed.

For a little while, he wondered how he was going to find Pax.  Miami was a gigantic city with so many people.  There were a couple of safe houses around town.  Would she have gone to one?  He wasn't sure, but it was possible.  First thing in the morning, he could go.  It couldn't hurt.  It was actually a good starting point.  However, it seemed too easy, too convenient.  He settled under the covers and turned to his side.  He couldn't begin to imagine what he would do or say.  He hoped he could control his temper, he really did.

The next morning, his parents were more than willing to stay with Stasia while Donovan went prospecting for his missing lover.  His daughter had taken to them and she didn't seem distressed when he left.  Good.  He wanted them to have this chance to know their granddaughter.  He borrowed his dad's car and drove around for a little while, getting his bearings.  He knew little about Miami, but with a good map, he was sure to find the safe houses.  One was more open, and he assumed that if Pax were going to go to one, she'd choose free over closed any time.  He pulled over and glanced at the map, sweating like hell.  The air conditioner didn't work and he was a little annoyed.  He found the street where he was currently parked and noticed that the free house was on the other side of town.  He wondered if he should risk driving out that way or go to the closed one first.  Debating for half a second [any more than that and he'd have a fucking heat stroke], he decided to make the trip.  As hot and as annoyed as he was, he could only imagine how he'd feel once he laid his eyes on Jonella Paxton.

*  *  *

Pax had wanted to go to a safe house, but she really had no choice, not until she found better footing elsewhere.  The agency was working on something special for her, but she wasn't in a big hurry to do anything.  She needed the time to sort out all the fucking drama that plagued her life.  If it weren't so fucking hot, she'd go outside.  She needed air and sunshine.  It might improve her mood.  _Honey, nothing will improve my mood_.  She growled in frustration and put on a pair of sneakers, anything else, and her fucking feet would be fried.  She stepped outside in the blinding sun, not realizing that Frank Donovan was swiftly approaching her from the north.

_I can't believe it.  I fucking **cannot** believe it_, Donovan thought as he neared the short driveway.  He hoped the heat had made him hallucinate.  Otherwise, he was looking right at her.  He threw the car into park and killed the engine.  Wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand, he exited the vehicle none too quietly.  At the loud 'chunking' sound, Pax stopped and turned around.  Stalking toward her was one pissed off, sweating, hot-blooded, angry as hell man.  _Oh shit_.  It was time to get the hell out of Dodge [again].  Damn it.  What the fuck was he doing here?  How the fuck had he found her?  God.  No one could ever hide from those fucking federal agents.  Usually she would stand down any opponent she faced, but not this time.  Out of all the threats he'd ever made to her, this time, he was going to kill her.  He really was.

Donovan watched in disbelief as she ran off like a gazelle with her long ass legs.  Oh hell no.  Did she think she would get away from him?  Not such a damn good idea.  Heat stroke or not, he was going to fucking chase her down if it took two days.  He took off running after her, not saying a word, only deep breathing, and controlling the rage bubbling up inside him.  There was plenty of time for rage once he caught her.  She ran around the little house, likely going for the back door.  Another idea that was pretty lame.  It was the first place he'd look.  He ripped around the house after her and her hand was on the doorknob.  Just a few more inches, and he'd have it.  She almost had the door open when she felt a body slamming up against her back.  She yipped in surprise as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her waist.  _Caught.  Goddamn it.  I'm caught._  

Using the door for leverage, she slipped her body halfway inside and drew back with her elbow, catching him a good one in the chest.  God.  She couldn't stand how he fought without making a sound.  It was a CIA thing.  The blow only knocked him back a step or two, and his arm shot out.  He took hold of her elbow and jerked her back.  She bared her teeth at him like an animal and jerked violently forward, positioning his hand between the door and the doorjamb.  _You bitch, don't even think of it_, he thought.

"If you don't let go, I'll fucking break your hand, Frankie.  Do it, I swear to God."

"Idle threats piss me off," he growled.  "If you were going to do it, you already would have.  If you don't fucking let me in, I'll drag your ass right back out.  How public do you want this to be?"

"_Fuck off_," she roared.

Next door, they heard a voice call out:  "Do you need any help over there, ma'am?  Is that man bothering you?"

Almost at the same time, they shouted back, "Lover's quarrel, mind your own business!"

With Donovan distracted, she yanked her arm out of his hand and slipped inside.  He moved quickly and inserted his body between the decreasing space.  It hadn't mattered to him.  If the door closed, he would have broken a window.  On the run again, she dodged furniture to find a safe room.  He knew the layout of these places pretty well, and he darted in the opposite direction.  As soon as she rounded a corner, he met her.  She slammed right into his chest with an unexpected 'oof.'  He took hold of her, clamping his hands on her forearms.

"The chase has ended.  You're caught.  Now stop fucking around," he said in a low, severe whisper.

"_I hate you_," she screamed.

"So you've said many times.  Cut the shit.  How many times do I have to tell you that."  He pushed her backward, into the small dining room and she yipped again when her ass hit the edge of the table, pinching it.  "What the fuck were you doing, Pax?"  When she didn't speak, he shook her.  "_Tell me_.  You came to Miami to settle personal CIA shit, didn't you?"

"What the hell are you talking about," she demanded.  "What personal CIA shit?"

"When are you going to stop playing games," he asked through gritted teeth.  "Stop it, goddamn it, just stop it."

She had no idea what he was talking about.  "You have wasted your time coming here.  Why the hell can't you just give up and go on?  And what's with this personal shit?  Tell me, Frankie, because I'm fucking confused."

Something told him she was telling the truth, yet something else made him believe she was lying.  She had fucked with his mind so much that he didn't know what to think anymore.  He released her and yelled out an aggravated 'ahhhhhh.'  He turned away from her for a moment, walking a few steps forward.  He thought she'd take the time to escape again, but she didn't.  She stood watching cautiously, wondering if her death was imminent as soon as he caught his breath.  When he turned back around, he fixed her with a heated gaze.  _Oh shit.  Here it goes_.  He made his two steps back and put his hand on her throat.  She closed her eyes, waiting for the squeeze.  It never came.  Instead, his lips captured hers hard and possessively.

When she realized he wasn't going to kill her, she relaxed just the slightest bit and returned the kiss, snaking her arms around his neck.  He broke the kiss after several minutes and looked at her.  What did she have on?  Shorts?  Tee shirt?  Hmm.  A challenge, but not difficult.  He kissed her again, his hand traveling down her side, and he grasped her shorts.  What the hell was he doing to her?  He dragged them down roughly, pulling her forward just a bit to get them off.

"On the table, _now_," he said against her lips.

She didn't argue with him.  She was actually a little afraid to, thinking that he still intended to kill her.  She got up on the table, the wood cold against her bare ass.  He leaned her back, his lips moving up and down the inside of her legs.  Uh uh.  This wasn't happening.  She leaned up again and took a handful of his shirt.  She kissed him and he worked her out of her tee shirt.  He cupped her breasts through her bra as she broke away from his lips and cried out a little.  She worked furiously to get him out of his jeans, and when he stepped out of them, he came toward her again, his teeth nipping her neck none too gently.  Goddamn.  He liked it rough sometimes.  Jesus.  She stripped him out of his shirt, ripping it in the process.  He didn't care.  Didn't give a shit.  Not at all.

"Lay back," he demanded.

"Now wait just a fucking minute," she grumbled.  "I'm not some ditzy…ditzy…_oh Jesus_."

He'd made his command and then brought his hand down between her legs just as she was about to complain.  He was rubbing, stroking, touching, and dipping his fingers inside again and again.  Uh God.  "Lay back," he commanded against her neck.  "If you don't, I won't stop."

"Who says I want you to stop," she asked breathlessly.  "I should have broken your fucking fingers," she said through a low moan.

"Really," he said, biting her neck, but never quite stopping.  "I thought you liked my fingers."

"Goddamn you," she moaned.  "Goddamn you."

"Do you," he asked.

Rub, stroke, dip.  "God, stop," she cried.

"Tell me, Jonella.  Do you?"

Dip, dip, dip.  "Jesus Christ.  You win, you fucker, you win.  I like them; I like them inside me, all over me.  Happy?"

He smiled against her neck.  "A little.  I won this round, didn't I?  You're not off the hook by a long shot.  We'll finish what we need to finish, I can promise you that.  Now lay back."

During his entire little commentary he had never let up.  "I don't want you," she said gruffly.

"What I'm touching is telling a different story.  Lay back, Jonella.  _Do it_."

She laid back.


	6. Partial Confession

PARTIAL CONFESSION

Pax came out of the shower with a towel wrapped tightly around her.  Donovan had showered before her and he sat on the side of the bed watching her.  He had wanted to shower with her, but she refused.  Her statement had been harsh and swift:  _You got what you wanted, now leave me alone_.  God.  What would he have to do to convince her that he wanted more from her than kinky sex?  It just sort of ended up that way when they fought.  It was part of their relationship.  She didn't fail to notice he wasn't wearing anything.  She had ruined his shirt and they'd have to go out and buy him another.  She supposed the rage had left him as soon as his climax hit.  Rage and sex.  Sex and rage.  It was nuts.  She took her brush and stood before the mirror on the closet door.  He watched her solemnly, wondering if she thought she would escape without talking to him.  

"You do plan on talking to me, don't you," he asked suddenly, sick of the silence, sick of watching her detangling her hair.  

"You got what you wanted, you don't have to talk to me," she said.

He sighed and ran his hands over his face.  This irritating woman, this fucking irritating woman.  He stood and approached her from behind.  He laid his hands against her hips.  "Would you please stop saying that?  You're making it sound as if that's the only reason I'm around you.  It's not true.  I could have sex with anyone.  You do realize that, don't you?  If that's all I wanted, I sure as shit wouldn't have followed you all the way to Miami.  For God's sake, let me in.  If you'd just let me inside your heart, you would see it.  I don't know why you keep me locked out."

She closed her eyes.  He didn't understand.  He'd never fucking understand.  She cursed the day she came back into his life.  "That would be digging too deeply inside me, and I don't think you're ready to make that trip yet.  I love you, and I mean it, but the other thing, the letting you in thing, I don't know.  Go back home, Frank, please.  Your ex wants to take your kid away from you, and I don't want to see that happen, so I remove myself.  Your ex can come back and you won't lose your kid.  That's why I left, that's why I took off.  Just go, do it, Frank, please."

Her words confused him.  She hadn't actually left because of Keith Ahiga?  Did she know about him?  He would deal with Ahiga, he would have to tell her about it, but first, he had something else on his mind.  "I can't let her run my life, Jonella.  Some day, she'll realize that she has to deal with anything that happens in my life, just like I'll have to deal with it on her end.  When it comes to Stasia, we'll get it worked out some how, some way.  I won't leave you like this."  He turned her to face him.  "Do you understand?  I won't.  Why couldn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because I know what you need, and it isn't me."

"You're wrong, Jonella.  You're very wrong."  He caressed her cheek, his thumb moving lightly over her lips.  "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm looking at what I need?"  He kissed her softly.  "Let me in," he said against her lips.

"I can't," she whispered.

"You can.  I won't leave you alone until you do."

*  *  *

Donovan went back to his parents' house to check in on Stasia.  He had been gone longer than he expected.  He had extracted a promise from Pax that she would stay put.  He had taken her plane ticket and credit cards as insurance.  She had cursed him, of course, but he didn't care.  She wasn't going anywhere until he found out what had happened between her and Keith Ahiga.  His mother and father noticed the shirt change, but they didn't say much about it.  He did, after all, mention a girlfriend.  Stasia was playing happily on the floor with some old paper dolls Anneliese had found for her.  She was tearing them up more than playing with them, but she was having fun.  While Stasia remained distracted with her grandparents, Donovan slipped into his bedroom and dug through his luggage.  He had brought along a file with the information that Cody had dug up.  He was waiting for the call to come, but he was certain that a case would fall in their laps.  Like Cody, Donovan was getting sick of politicians:  Wengrod, Thomas, and now Ahiga/Raynor.  

When he opened up the file and thumbed through the material, he found himself staring down at Jonella Paxton's name.  He wanted to know the connection without having to ask.  She wouldn't tell him and he couldn't extract the information out of her no matter how hard he tried.  There was nothing in the file that gave him any hints, so he sat there and thought about it.  He shook his head.  He wasn't altogether sure that Pax was telling him the truth about her ditching him to go to Miami, but goddamn, she seemed sincere.  _She has been sincere like that before, now hasn't she_?  Goddamn.  He stuffed the paper back into the file and set it aside.  He dug out his cell phone and checked in at the nest.  So far, no case had filtered in.  They couldn't pursue the man without a case.  He snapped the phone closed and stared off into space.  In a few hours, he'd return to Pax's and find out about Keith Ahiga.  

That evening, Donovan had dinner with his parents again, and his mother prodded him gently about where he had gone earlier that day, but he didn't elaborate.  She began talking about his 'involvement,' and he shut her voice out.  He was daydreaming just a bit, trying to comb his mind for any clues that existed when he and Pax first became partners.  Although always crass, rude, and crude, when she was out in the field, she was ruthless, and when she saw Ahiga, she was vicious.  She had actually demanded to be given the black-eyed man.  He pushed and prodded, but she wouldn't volunteer any information.  What was it?  What was the connection?  Damn it.  He recalled that she had asked about the Death Angels after a failed attempt at breaking up the Ahiga gang.  Whatever the connection was, it forced her to go to the assassin squad.  Pax was shut off, icy, and refused to give in to her feelings.  She didn't trust anyone.  She tried to push people away with words.  Shit.  Donovan didn't snap out of it until his mother touched him, asking if he wanted seconds on the grilled chicken.  He refused.  There was no way he could eat.  His stomach was tied in knots.  He excused himself, went to his room, changed clothes, and took off again.  It was confrontation time, and by God, she _would_ talk to him.

*  *  *

Pax sighed in exasperation when Donovan entered the room.  She gave him a dirty look and nearly demanded her shit back, but she knew he wouldn't give over.  He noticed that she had had an all-liquid dinner.  She'd been drinking vodka, probably since he left earlier.  Her eyes were red and glassy.  She was drunk, but controlled.  After letting him inside, she went back over to the small couch and grabbed her vodka bottle.  He stood back for a moment and watched her.  He wondered what she'd do if he took her bottle away.  It was obvious she wasn't going to invite him to join her, so he took the initiative.  She grabbed her bottle and poured a little of the clear liquid into the glass.  She usually didn't drink unless she was bored or stressed.  He didn't think she was bored.  Something was going on.  When she killed the vodka in her glass, she reached for the bottle again.  This time, he grabbed out and snagged it away.  She gave him a loathsome look, but she didn't fight him.

"Do you remember when I accused you of working a personal CIA case?"  She said nothing, only nodded.  "A couple of days before I flew down, I saw a familiar face on Cody's computer screen.  It was the face of a man we both know.  It was Keith Ahiga."  She almost reacted, but took a deep breath to calm down.  She hadn't heard that name in years.  Hearing it leave Donovan's mouth bothered her more than anything.  "Jonella, I know that we had some run-ins with this man, but we found out that you were his partner back before we met.  What's the story behind that, Jonella?  I know there has to be something."

Did she ever fucking believe she'd have to relive her time with that sick fuck?  Goddamn him for bringing this back to her.  Goddamn him for following her.  She wanted her vodka bottle back, not to drink it, but to smack him with it.  Keith fucking Ahiga.  When would that particular ghost stop haunting her?  She would have to kill him first, and she was ready to do that.  "There's nothing, Frank.  He was just a fucking partner, just like you.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I would appreciate it if you'd never mention his fucking name again.  If you must, then get the fuck out right now."

"Not just yet.  I don't think you're being honest.  I know that this man was a double agent, and I know that you nearly took a fall because of him.  What was it?  What was this man to you?  I have to know."  He watched her carefully.  He had never seen her so close to breaking, to falling apart.  What the hell was going on?  "Jonella, please tell me.  I'll do what I can for you, but you must tell me."  He took hold of her arm, trying to turn her body toward his.  She was limp, catatonic almost.  He didn't like this, didn't like it at all.  "Jonella?  What is your connection with this man other than the obvious."

"You can beg all you want," she whispered.  "But I won't tell you.  It's not important.  He was a partner, that's fucking all.  Please leave me alone and don't talk about this fuck around me ever again.  Please, Frank?  I've never fucking begged you for anything, but I'm begging you now.  _Please_."  She tore her arm out of his hand and stood.  She was shaky on her feet, but she could walk.  She was going toward the door.  "Leave me.  I don't want you here.  I have to be alone for a while.  Get the fuck out, Frankie."  She opened the door and stood by it.  "Go."

He stood and approached her.  Sighing deeply, he took hold of her arm again and pulled her back from the door.  He closed it and turned toward her.  She was getting pissed.  He could see that clearly in her eyes.  Any second now, she would explode.  For three minutes or more, they stood facing each other without moving an inch.  She stared at him, throwing daggers with her eyes.  Without warning, she launched an attack on him, clawing, biting, slapping, and shoving.  He avoided serious injury only because of the vodka she had consumed.  She did manage to claw his cheek before he took hold of her wrists.  Even then, she was kicking at him.  Although she was beating the shit out of him, he knew she wasn't fighting him.  When she realized that he wasn't out to hurt her, she stopped and collapsed neatly at his feet.  Jesus.  He had never seen her like this before.  He helped her stand and he walked her into the bedroom.  In her drunken state, she was whispering a name over and over again:  Lee.  It was a name he had never heard her utter before.  She sat down heavily on the bed and buried her face into her hands.  How much of this shit would she remember in the morning?

When she looked up at him, she noticed the scratches on his face.  She had gotten him pretty good and was certain that it had hurt like fuck.  "God, Frank," she said, "I'm sorry.  I didn't…didn't…fuck it.  I don't know what the hell I'm saying."  She dragged her body onto the middle of the bed and buried her face into her pillow.  "Don't ask me," she whispered.  "Please don't ask.  I can't go through it again."  Who was she talking to?  Him?  Someone else?  "Frank?  If I'm too disgusting, you can leave.  I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Such pain, such horrendous pain.  He had never heard it leaving her.  He had brought this on, but he didn't understand.  If Ahiga were nothing more than a partner, why would it affect her like this?  He did the only thing he could.  He climbed onto the bed behind her, placing a comforting hand on her arm.  When she felt him gently caressing it, she turned to her side facing him, and did the unexpected.  She clung to him, wrapping her arms around him, and buried her face into his chest.  God if he had known his prodding would have done this to her, he never would have said a word.  She didn't cry, but drew in little hitching breaths as if she were fighting it away with everything she had in her, which at that point wasn't much.  Every now and then, she whispered 'Lee' under her breath before falling asleep against him.  Donovan didn't move or sleep, he held her, not believing the incredible torment rushing through her, not quite understanding it.  This was a side of Jonella Paxton he had never been exposed.  He thought he had seen it all when she showed him a tender side, making love to him instead of fucking him, but he hadn't.  Whatever was going on inside her was something old and festering, waiting to explode.  How long would she allow it to eat her alive before she told him [if she _ever_ told him]?  

It was dawn before she moved a muscle, coming awake slowly, fighting the vodka hangover.  There was a body in bed with her, one who she held onto desperately.  She pulled back suddenly, as if embarrassed.  At that point, she noticed it was Frankie and he was gazing at her curiously, wondering why she decided to get away after his holding her all night.  She sat up too quickly and felt an incredible wave of vertigo attacking her.  Fucking shit.  She had overdone it with the vodka.  She had once thought that wasn't possible, but it was.  Oh yes it was.  Vaguely, she noticed the long scratches on the side of his face.  Had she done that?  Good fucking God.  She didn't remember anything from the last few hours.  How much had she confessed?  How much did he know?  _Jumping Jesus on a fucking camel_.  She had obviously gone psycho last night, attacking him, taking out all her anger on him as she usually did.  Frankie was her consummate target.  Sometimes she wondered if it was because he reminded her of the fucking bastard whose name she didn't speak.  She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the bathroom.  She stank like vodka, it was oozing out of her pores, and she had to get that stink off, had to wash it away.  Wash…it…all…away.

Of course, Frankie wouldn't leave it alone, wouldn't leave _her_ alone.  She heard the curtain sliding back before she felt his body stepping in behind her.  The heat radiating it from it was mind numbing.  He wanted to hold, comfort, and love her.  She kept telling herself that she didn't need any of that shit.  She had dealt with everything alone and would continue to do so.  She didn't need Frank Donovan or any man.  She didn't need anybody.  She was a loner, had been all her life, and this was no exception.  Fuck everybody.  Fuck the world.  When his hands touched her, the harsh feelings left her little by little.  A part of her wanted to beat the living shit out of him.  Perhaps then, he'd leave.  However, she supposed she _had_ beaten him up, but what do you know?  The fucker was still here.  She had never met a man more witless than Frank Donovan, had never known one so fucking steadfast and loyal, even when he fucking hated her guts.  How many times had she fucked with him?  How many times had she hurt him?  Did he _ever_ go away?  Had he _ever_ turned her away?  Even when he discovered she was out to kill his princess, he had remained by her side, giving her someone to trust, to lean on.  Goddamn it.  Goddamn it all.  She didn't want it because she didn't deserve it.

He turned her slightly unyielding body toward him.  "I think part of what happened earlier is my fault," he told her.  "I brought it in and I'm sorry, but I need to know.  I need to know so I can help you."

"I can't talk about it, not yet.  Stop fucking pushing me for once.  When I leave, you follow; when I hurt you, you come back for more.  I don't get it.  I don't understand."

"I won't push, but I want you to think about it.  I saw what this did to you and I know it's something big.  As far as my following you and coming back for more, it's what I do for people I love.  Whether you believe it or not, Jonella, I do love you."

She batted most of his declarations aside.  She was focusing on just a few of his words.  "Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?  Is this a new case?"

He shook his head.  She skirted right over the main part of what he said.  She surely knew how to avoid, didn't she?  "No.  He's here somewhere, and I thought you had found out and came to hunt him down."

Stunned, she turned and shut the shower off.  She climbed out and grabbed a towel.  For a moment, Donovan simply stayed put, perplexed.  "Jesus fucking Christ.  He's _here_?  In Miami?"

Shaking off the confusion, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed his own towel.  "Yes.  Cody mentioned that he lives here now.  That's why I was so angry, that's why I thought you had an ulterior motive, other than your fear of love."

She was in the middle of a nervous fucking breakdown, and he still wanted to fucking talk about love.  God, he could be biting sometimes.  "Do you know this for sure?"

He wrapped the towel around his waist, securing it.  "No, not for sure, but it was his last known location.  What kind of score do you have to settle with him?  Is it something that will get you killed?"

"Maybe," she said angrily.  "Stop trying to read my mind."  She planted her hands on her hips and watched Frankie.  He was staring at her viciously almost, his hand holding desperately onto the towel.  "I think you should leave.  There's some shit I need to work out."

"Don't even try to hunt this man down.  Remember the shit with the VP?  I can easily do that to you again.  Do you want me on your ass day and night?  I can make it a reality very easily.  If you would talk to me, I might be inclined to help you settle the score, only if it's something legitimate.  How personal is this, Jonella?  Tell me now."

Pax saw a flash of her little boy.  She saw the vehicle bearing down on him, heard his screams, and remembered finding his little shoe turned inside out.  "It's very fucking personal, Frankie, I suggest you fucking keep out of it."  She stomped back into the bedroom, found his clothing, and threw it at him.  "Get your ass dressed and get the fuck out."

Donovan tore the towel off his waist and threw it aside.  He picked up his underwear first and literally shoved his legs through the openings.  His slacks came next and he put them on with the same violent motions.  He stood still for a moment, gazing out the open bathroom door.  He saw her sitting on the side of the bed, scheming and plotting.  He growled under his breath [_fuck it_], grabbed his thin cotton shirt, jammed his arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it.  He didn't bother tucking it in and nearly forgot his shoes.  He kept grumbling incoherently as he put on his socks and shoes.  When he came out of the bathroom fully dressed, Pax was still on the side of bed, a thousand miles away.

"I won't come back," he growled her way.

"Hot damn," she said bitterly.  "It's about fucking time you listened to your goddamn instincts.  Go back to Chicago, go back where you belong.  I don't need you."

She did.  It was written all over her, but he was beyond caring at that moment.  Fuck her.  He'd had it.  "Very well.  Have a nice life with your avoidance, your hiding, and your lies."

"Same to you, you witless fuck.  Leave me alone.  Just get out and leave me alone."

With one final shake of his head, one final look, he turned away and gave her exactly what she wanted.                


	7. Surprises And Barroom Brawls

SURPRISES & BARROOM BRAWLS

Donovan turned his 'mission' into a mini-vacation.  He was assured every day that the team had not been assigned to assist with bringing down Tore Raynor.  For now, the Norwegian double agent was being a good boy.  It hadn't taken much arguing to secure the time off.  Since the botched attempt on his life and the stress surrounding the VP's misdeeds, there wasn't much the upper brass wouldn't grant him.  He didn't use that to his advantage very often, but it had its perks.  He took the time to become reacquainted with his parents and enjoy his daughter.  He hadn't seen Jonella Paxton in three or four days, but she stayed on his mind.  He stubbornly held onto his refusal to see her.  He was tired of playing by her rules.  If she wanted his help, wanted _him_, she would find him.  She was relatively smart and it wouldn't take long.  Besides, his parents' phone number was listed in the gigantic phone directory.  All she had to do was make a couple of calls, and she could walk right up to his doorstep.  However, he knew she wouldn't do it.  She was too stubborn.  _Ahhhhh_, he growled to himself.  He had promised himself that he would not think of her, but each time he drove her out, she came right back in, no matter what the task he was trying to accomplish.  Today, he was just trying to read a fucking book.  How long had it been since he had had time to read?  Months?  She was fucking distracting him.  _Shove her out.  Shove her away.  She isn't important to me any longer_.  Fuck her.  He snapped his book closed and tossed it across the room.  God help him, but he missed the bitch, missed her so much he thought his head would explode.  _How does she keep doing this to me_?

Sighing, he sat up on the side of the bed.  Today, he was alone.  His parents had taken Stasia with them for the afternoon.  They had completely fallen in love with his daughter.  Of course, he hadn't expected anything less.  She was their first grandchild.  All the pilfering and breaking she could do in the world wouldn't anger his parents one iota.  He left the room and made his way down the hall toward the living room.  His father kept a moderately stocked liquor cabinet and he suddenly felt the desire for a drink.  He opened it up and peered inside.  The first thing his eyes saw was a bottle of vodka.  Fucking vodka.  What made it worse was the fact that it was _her_ brand.  He couldn't get away from her regardless of where he went or turned.  It was crazy and he fucking hated it.  For the millionth time, he thought, _why is it that when I think of her, I fucking cuss like a fucking sailor_?  _Ahhhhh_.  He shoved the vodka aside and picked around until he found a fifth of _Jack Daniels_.  Excellent.  He grabbed the bottle and carried it into the kitchen.  He took a tall glass out of the drainer and poured a dollop of the dark liquid into it.  He stared at the glass for a long time.  Sighing, he picked it up and drained it.  It burned his throat, nearly killing him.  It had been way too long since he had downed JD straight like that.  He contemplated pouring another, but changed his mind.  He remembered Pax's condition and didn't want to do that to himself.  Pax.  There she was again.  He had to get out of Miami before thoughts of her drove him insane.  _Too late, Spankie.  Much too late for that now._  He rinsed out the glass and put it into the sink.  He decided to leave the JD out in case he changed his mind.  He went over to the overstuffed couch that his parents had had since he was a boy.  As he sunk into the cushions, he had no idea how they had maintained this particular piece of furniture for so long.  He had loved it as a child, and loved it even more as an adult.  He'd had about a thousand naps on this thing.  He stretched out on the couch and propped his arms behind his head.  

He mused that his parents had noticed the scratches on his cheek and the change in his demeanor.  When he had come home that early morning, they took immediate note of his angered exterior.  He hadn't said much about it.  Instead, he went into his room and sulked.  From that day, he had been moody and irritable, closing himself off.  His mother, bless her heart, had tried to bring him out of it by cooking every damn thing he liked.  If he had had an appetite, he probably would have gained twenty pounds.  Nothing pleased him.  He wanted to see her, _needed_ to see her.  Thoughts of her consumed him, took over almost every waking moment.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't drive her out.  It was almost like the time right after she was released from the hospital.  Although she was vile at times, putrid even, he was drawn to her, seduced by her, and nothing he did could change that.  Perhaps this time, he would be free of her, because she wouldn't budge, and he refused to kiss her ass.  Yet, he did remember one thing.  The morning he left her, he hadn't given back her credit cards and plane ticket.  In fact, he still had them in his room.  She definitely couldn't go anywhere without those items, because he knew she didn't have enough cash to go any further than Tampa.  He chuckled deliciously at the thought.  Perhaps Pax _was_ right about him.  Perhaps he _was_ a prick.  

His evil little chuckle echoing in the room rocked him to a light doze.  In his dream, he thought he heard something pecking away, rapping almost.  It was hollow and annoying.  His brow furrowed at the intrusion.  What the hell?  Had Stasia gotten hold of a wooden spoon again?  He often wondered if his child wanted to become a percussionist when she grew up.  He settled back against the cushions.  Eventually, the game would bore her, and she'd move on to something else.  However, the noise didn't let up.  In fact it intensified and became louder, more annoying.  Rap.  Rap.  Peck.  Peck.  Bang.  Bang.  _Bang_!  The last 'bang' brought him completely out of his doze.  His daughter could hit pretty hard, but not that damn hard.  Someone had dared to knock on the door during his afternoon nap.  He sat up and scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes.  Afternoon naps always made him feel as if he had a hangover.  He stood up clumsily, nearly tripping over his shoes.  Whoever the guest was, he/she was extremely persistent.  His parents weren't back yet, so perhaps he could get rid of the visitor and continue on with his nap.  He swung the heavy oak door open and saw that the guest was his.  Standing behind the storm door was Jonella Paxton.  She had dressed conservatively in a light summer dress with a floral pattern.  She had somehow found a clip that would hold all her hair in a messy, but stylish French twist.  She actually looked respectable, normal almost.  After raking his eyes up and down her body several times, he slammed the door in her face and walked back toward the couch.

When the door came open, he groaned.  He had forgotten to engage the damn lock.  She had finally found him, after four fucking days, she had come to him.  He buried his face into his hands for a brief moment, running them over his face.  Five minutes ago, he wanted to see her so badly that he was tempted to chase after her like a lovesick fool.  Right now, he wanted to fucking kill her.  If she launched into him again, he would.  He'd end her life; end his torment once and for all.  It would be the only way to escape her clutches.  He thought of how she was dressed and he wanted to laugh.  She was putting on another mask, one for his family.  Regardless of what she said, she did care about people, cared what they thought and felt.  He looked up at her and saw that she was standing close to the door with her arms crossed over her chest.  She really did look nice, it wasn't her, but it was nice all the same.  Donovan didn't know what to say to her, he really didn't.

"What do you want," he asked calmly, keeping check on his rage.  If she uttered one foul word, he'd make his own launch at her.  "Four days ago, you were cursing me, telling me to get out, and now you're here at my parents' home.  What do you want," he repeated.  "I'll give you three minutes and then I'm kicking your ass right out."

She took her arms down and clasped her hands in front of her.  She had heard this kind of hurt in his voice, of course, but this time, it seemed different.  "I wanted to apologize," she began.  "I understand that you were only trying to help me, but this is something I need to deal with on my own terms, and I hope you can accept that."  She had gotten through that whole thing without one foul word.  It took extreme control and concentration.  "Maybe when I can deal with it, I'll be able to tell you, but I can't promise anything.  I don't know how long you're staying, but I want to be with you while you're here."

Donovan stared at her, burning a hole through her with his dark eyes.  She was wearing another mask, he could see that, and he was very close to turning her away.  This shit wasn't sincere, this wasn't _her_.  He wasn't falling for it.  Jonella Paxton had always had a bottom line, and this time was no exception.  There was more to her plea, more to her request, but she had simply hidden it with pretty words.  She had to know he wasn't going to take this bullshit and run with it.  However, he wanted her enough, _loved_ her enough to allow her touch him, to let her get inside.  If she had come to him after their heated fight four days previously, she wanted to tell him, and eventually, she'd let him in.  He would not leave her until he knew and she had to know that.  With all her reverse psychology and mind games, she was completely transparent.  Sad thing was, she knew it, and didn't seem to care one damn bit.  Would their gut-wrenching tennis match ever end?  Absently, he nodded.  She had won this round, she certainly had.  Silently, he watched as she approached him.  He had yet to utter a single response, but she could read the answer in his eyes.  He leaned back as she approached.  In amazed incredulity, he watched as she hiked up her dress and straddled his lap.  She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply.  When his hands reached out to grasp her waist, he noticed the smooth lines and he ran his hands along her back, then down to her buttocks.  _Jesus.  _Pax had played him well, predicting his reaction almost.  She had come well prepared.  She wore absolutely nothing under the dress.

*  *  *

Pax stretched a little bit and glanced at the ancient alarm clock.  She and Donovan were packed together on his tiny bed.  She rose up on one elbow and began searching for her dress and hair clip.  Jesus.  What had happened to them?  Where did they get thrown?  She climbed out of the bed, nearly falling on her skinny ass in the process, and she began looking around the room.  God if she didn't get out of her before his parents came back, she'd die.  Feeling almost adolescent, she cackled crazily as she snagged up her dress.  It was hanging on a doorknob in the hallway.  Who threw it there?  Her?  Frankie?  She tossed it over her head and pulled it down and back in place.  Her sandals were waiting for her on top of the coffee table.  The hair clip was the hardest item to find.  As she crawled around the bedroom on her hands and knees, Donovan rose up on his elbow and watched curiously.  Pax snagged it.  The fucker had somehow gotten under the bed.  She sat on the side of the bed and ignored Donovan's amused expression.  Her hair was tangled now, messy.  God.  She needed a fucking hairbrush.  As she gathered her hair in both hands and pulled it up, she heard Donovan utter something that sounded like 'perfect' before he shifted his weight on the bed.  A moment later, his lips were on her shoulders and the back of her neck.

"Do you want your parents to find us like this," she asked.

"They know I do this.  I have a daughter," he mumbled against her skin.  "You don't have to go."

"Uh, hell yes, I have to go.  I don't do parents, just their sons."

He drew her arms down and took her hands out of her mussed up hair.  He was trying to pull her back on the bed, and damn if she didn't feel her fucking body playing right along.  As soon as he succeeded, he kissed her and slid his hand down her body.  "Where do you have to go," he asked against her lips.  "Who do you have to see?  There's no one here for you, but me."

_The fucker has not lost his touch_.  Although seducing her, alighting fires all over her, he was also interrogating her.  He was trying his damn best to extract information from her.  He was a damn witless fucker, trying to get the ball back in his court.  He thought he could use his fucking techniques on her and she'd give right the fuck in.  "You're right," she said, playing along, "but how awkward is this?  Damn it, Frankie, meeting your parents?  I have to go."

_Come on Jonella, I know what you're doing.  Give in.  Give in to me_.  "They know I'm… involved," he said as his hand snaked under her dress, his fingers lightly caressing her thigh.  "You said you wanted to be with me while you're here, and this is a good way.  It has to be better than the safe house."  

Although he was driving her out of her mind, she kept her thighs closed.  She could sense he wanted to play dirty, but she damn well wouldn't let him.  "Mmm, lots better," she whispered as her tongue snaked out, darting across his lips.  She worked her hand underneath the bed sheet and it fell on him in a light caress.  _It's my game now_.

_Damn it.  I put myself at a disadvantage.  Shit, she'll fucking win again_.  "I'll bet," he said, his words ending in a tortured groan.

She leaned up a little and pushed the sheets away until he was exposed to her.  She continued to place feather light kisses on his lips as her hand worked its magic.  _This round is mine.  Score one for Pax_.  Her hand fell away abruptly and he let out an exasperated breath.  Her lips trailed down his chest and onto his lower abdomen.  _Goddamn it.  She's quite the cheater_, he thought as her lips fell upon him.  She rose up abruptly, after no more than thirty seconds, and he expected her to strip so he could come inside.  Instead, she climbed off the bed, adjusted her dress, and stared down at him.

"What the hell," he demanded, his voice not quite steady.

"I told you I had to go," she replied with an evil twinkle in her eyes.  "You'll be all right in a little bit.  If you want to see me tonight, I'll be at a club downtown called South Valley.  Until then, I'll leave you to your hand.  Goodbye, Frankie."

Groaning again [_ahhhh_], he buried his face into the pillow.  She had won yet another battle, but he was hell bent to be the eventual victor of the war.

*  *  *

Donovan grumbled when he saw the entrance to the club.  It was a loud techno type thing that was completely not his style.  Why the hell had she picked this place?  _Because she's Jonella Paxton and she can_.  He gave the marquee outside a cursory glance.  Some cracked out looking singer was performing there tonight.  He only noticed because her last name was "Frank."  He stepped inside and the noise swelled out and around him.  God.  This place was fucking awful.  His jaw dropped as soon as he saw Pax.  The only way he recognized her was the spiky heeled boots.  She didn't look like herself at all.  She was dressed in some type of skintight catsuit, likely vinyl.  She had somehow tamed her wild hair, straightening it, and wore it slicked back in a ponytail.  It appeared darker.  Her face was covered in thick makeup.  She approached her stuffy escort for the night and laughed.  Same old Frankie.  Even when he was ripping loose, he still had to wear decent shit like blue jeans and button downs.

She took his hand, noticing his gawped open mouth.  "Come on, Frankie.  I promise not to bite you…very hard."  

She dragged him over to a vacant table and sat him down.  She sat as close to him as the confines of the small table would allow.  As it was, she was thigh to thigh with him.  Her hand snaked out and settled on his thigh.  God help him, he liked it, liked her this way.  This was Pax.  It was a tacky look, but all hers.  Jesus.  He had begun to wonder how he could get her out of the outfit.  God.  She was fucking him up, and he didn't like to be fucked up.

"I'm sorry I left you like I did today," she said, nearly shouting over the throbbing music.

"What the hell made you pick a place like this," he shouted back.  "Let's get out of here."

"No," she yelled, "I want to see the show.  After the show, I'll finish what I started earlier.  Okay?"  

She ended the statement by drawing her hand closer to the bulge in his jeans.  He found himself responding, needing her touch, aching for it.  What the hell?

The noise quieted down a bit as the 'star' came out to the gigantic dance floor.  The marquee photo had made Iona Frank appear cracked out, but nothing compared to the actual person.  She was taller than average, probably well over six feet, and had very long black hair.  It was frizzed out and dry, as if she had dyed and redyed it.  She moved around the floor like a psychotic scarecrow.  The display she put on was fucking scary.  Her clothes were the worst.  She was dressed in a getup with a skimpy bra like top and a super short mini-skirt.  The garments were covered in what appeared to be…feathers.  Her eyes were covered in jet black eye liner and her lips were colored the same shade.  She was hideous.  Her voice was even more hideous.  No one could understand a word she was singing [or screaming], and she came out to the tables, flirting with the men.  Donovan glanced over at Pax, asking with his eyes:  _what the hell were you thinking_?

Pax shrugged, but she was getting pissed.  The creature was fucking staring at Donovan with hungry eyes.  _Oh hell no.  Take one step, you bitch, and I'll kick your ass_.  Iona must have noticed the look on Pax's face, because she didn't move toward their table.  When the horror known as her set was over, Pax excused herself for a drink.  She needed it after that horrible display.  

"I'm sitting with you," an annoying nasal voice said.

Donovan looked up.  It was the singer.  Before he could protest, she plopped herself in Pax's chair.  "I saw you looking at me.  You have the look of a man who knows everything about me without knowing me."

He sat back a little.  Good God.  She was even more hideous up close.  Trying his best to be polite, he said, "Miss, I'm far from psychic, I cannot read your mind.  I'm truly flattered, however, I'm with somebody else."

"Her?  Come on, handsome, I know you want me.  I saw it."

He was about to start yelling for Pax when she showed up.  "And who the fuck said you could sit in my chair, you anemic giraffe," she yelled.

She smirked up at Pax.  "We connected.  He knows me, man.  Knows everything about me, knows how I feel, what I think, _understands_ me."

"For your fucking information, Morticia, he's my fucking man.  How the fuck would he know you?  If you don't remove your ass in five seconds, I'll fucking remove you myself."

She stood up slowly, facing Pax, challenging her.  "Is that so?  I'm _talented_.  I'm _famous.  _I'm the _best_."

"Baby, you are delusional," Pax said angrily.  "Remove your meth addict ass.  You're fucking psychotic."

"Can you sing, you hideous beast," she asked pointedly.

"No, and apparently you can't either," Donovan heard himself say before he could help it.

She turned her ire on him.  "You dirty bastard!"

"Okay," Pax shouted.  "That fucking does it.  No one calls him a bastard but me.  I'm going to kick your ass."

Donovan tried to keep her from throwing a punch, but it was too late.  Pax's fist connected with Iona's jaw.  She tried to rebound, but couldn't.  She kicked out and Pax grabbed her leg and tripped her.  When she fell to the floor, Pax was all over her.  By that time, the music had died down and everyone in the club began to watch the fight with great interest.  For a moment, Donovan watched [a little amused…he was certain to go to hell], but soon stepped in to end it before Pax killed her.  Donovan grabbed Pax's arm and pulled hard.  She turned on him, ready to punch him out.  However, something in the back of the crowd caught her attention.  A man.  A tall man.  Was it?  Could it be?  No.  Impossible.

When she heard his voice screaming for the women to stop, she knew it.  Keith.  He came running over to break up the fight.  As soon as he drew near, Pax had her answers.  It was he.  It was the man who murdered her son.  When he saw Pax, he smiled a little.  He shouted _jomfru_ [virgin] toward her.  Donovan didn't understand what the man said, but he didn't like the look on Pax's face.  He turned to confront the fucker, and when he laid his eyes on Donovan, his smile fell away.

"Ahiga," Donovan shouted.

Without hesitation, the man turned and ran into the crowd.  Pax, with a loud shrieking primal cry, ran after him.  Donovan turned and ran after her, almost on her heels.  She ripped through the crowd, shoving and pushing.  By the time she made it out onto the busy street, she saw Ahiga climb into a waiting limousine.  She ran toward it madly.  Behind her, she could hear Donovan roaring her name, demanding that she stop.  She saw a semi-automatic weapon sticking out the limo's back window.  They could shoot her down, she didn't care.  Just as the sharp crack of gunfire issued forth, Donovan grabbed Pax around the waist and pulled her out of the line of fire.  She hit the pavement hard, kicking and screaming at Donovan.

"Stop it, Pax," he demanded.  "_Stop it_."

She fought at him, clawing and slapping.  "_Let me go_," she roared.  "_Let me get him.  I have to get him_."

She almost got away, but Donovan grabbed onto her again.  She fought at him some more, and he did the only thing he could.  He drew back and slapped her hard.  "Snap out of it, Jonella.  Snap out of it," he said gently.

Pax slumped over, almost kneeling.  "He got away," she cried weakly.  "I let him get away."

He went to her again.  "Come with me, Jonella.  We'll get him, I promise you.  Just come with me."  He wrapped his arms around her waist and allowed him to bring her to her feet.  "After what I saw tonight, you're going to tell me everything."

She looked up at him, saw the determined stubbornness in his eyes, and she secured her arm about his waist.  She thought she might have sprained something.  "Take me back.  Take me back and I'll talk.  I promise."


	8. Baring Her Soul

BARING HER SOUL

As soon as Donovan walked Pax into the little living room of the safe house, he waited patiently while she cleaned up.  She came out of the bathroom about thirty minutes later, donning only a tee shirt.  Donovan had never seen her look so young or vulnerable before.  She moved toward her vodka bottle, but Donovan snatched it up before she could lay her hands on it.  Ruthlessly, he took the bottle to the back door and tossed it outside.  The shattering of the bottle didn't even make her flinch.  She stepped over to the couch and curled up on the corner of it.  Figuring she'd try to dodge him, he sat opposite her on the rickety coffee table.  He wouldn't budge until she told him everything.  He leaned forward on his knees and stared at her.  She felt his eyes on her and she wanted to shrink from them.  However, she promised she would talk and talk she would.

It was obvious she wouldn't start, so he made the first move.  "He called you something.  _Jomfru _[virgin].  What does that mean?  What language is that?"

"It's Norwegian.  It means virgin.  It's what he called me," she began.  She sat up and crossed her legs before her.  "When I came in to the agency, I was a stupid kid and he was the senior agent assigned to baby-sit me.  Sound familiar?  Anyway, he was older, more experienced, and so fucking hot, that I couldn't stand it.  Every night, he went on and on about his wife and kids, going so far as showing me a picture of them.  She was a lot like your princess, a blonde goddess.  I could never compete with that, so fuck it, right?  Besides, he was my partner.  I lusted from afar.  One night, the isolation got to him and he began to rant and rave.  One thing led to another…and…well…"

"He was your first," Donovan said gently.

She nodded.  "Yes, he was my first.  God, I was so fucking head over heels.  When our assignment ended, he came to me every now and then, getting his jollies, and I felt lower and lower each time he fucked me.  He was married, had children, and I was taking him away from that."

"Like you thought you were taking me away," he asked.

Once again, she nodded.  God.  She couldn't look at him.  "We kept it up, me never understanding what he saw in me when he had a goddess at home.  I just thought I was fucking lucky or something.  Anyway, he turned out to be a double agent, but I didn't find out about it immediately.  I didn't know until I discovered I was pregnant."  He wanted to speak, but she shook her head.  "No, Frank, please.  Let me do this.  I was pregnant and wondering how I was going to deal with it, what he would say, what he would tell his goddess, and so on.  When I came back to HQ, I was told that he had run off, had gone back to whatever country sent him.  All along he'd been playing me, playing the agency, and fucking me for information.  He wasn't married, there weren't any children.  It was bullshit.  My superiors immediately suspected me because I was his partner, and they had this perverted idea that we were fucking.  That was the only thing they got right.  I was interrogated for days until they were content.  After that, they did everything in their power to get rid of me, but I toughed it out.  I was four or five months pregnant before I finally made up my mind about the kid.  I was going to have it and give it up.  I didn't want to hate the kid because of its lousy ass father.  The birth was difficult and some freaky bleeding happened.  The hospital had to fix me to save my life.  I had a son, and I was intent on giving him up.  Some dumb ass nurse brought him to me, and when I saw him, I melted.  He was mine, all mine.  He was something that belonged only to me.  I called him Leathan or Lee, for short.  I didn't need anybody, didn't ask for help.  I took care of him and I loved him.  I have never loved any person that much in my life.  He was so damn beautiful, Frank; you wouldn't believe I could produce such a pretty kid.  He was dark but had my eyes.  He was sweet, loving, and gentle.  That little boy loved me so much, and I never understood why, but I was his goddess, I was.  When he was two, Keith tried to kidnap him.  He burst in on us while I had him in my lap, and he yanked him up by his arm.  Lee was no more than a rag doll to him.  No more than a son he could hold as a trophy.  He ran with my boy and I went after the bastard.  He was running through the traffic when a car came toward him.  Instead of sacrificing his life, he sacrificed Lee's.  He threw him in front of an oncoming car.  This little boy, this baby, who had done nothing more than be born, was taken out by a fucking car because his goddamn father was a coward."

With that said, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  There was some relief at having the story out in the open, but it was also disturbing.  She had never told a single soul about this, as much as Donovan had never told anyone about the VP's betrayal.  It was frightening because if she had finally poured it out to him, it told her that Donovan meant more to her than she was letting on.  As upset as she was, she didn't notice when Donovan stood up before her.  He sat beside her on the small couch and tried to draw her to him, but she was resisting, fighting him away.  Persistent, he kept reaching out for her, touching her, whispering gentle commands.  Eventually, she allowed him to pull her over to his lap.  He cradled her close to his body, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest.  It was overwhelming, something he had never expected, however, he could understand the crazed way she demanded to be given the black-eyed man.  God, if he knew then what he knew now, he would have let her have him.  In fact, he would have held the gun on him as she beat him senseless.  After a long time, her tears finally dried, but she wouldn't stop moaning.  The pain was fresh and alive.  The memories were brutal and agonizing.  He lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom.  He laid her gently onto her bed and climbed in beside her.

"Jonella," he whispered.  "Your son wasn't the only one who thinks of you as a goddess.  I love you."

She began crying again and he tightened his hold on her.  "That's bullshit, Donovan."

"No, never."

"Will you stay," she whispered.

"I'll stay."

*  *  *

Although it would take a few more hours for Pax to tell Donovan why she had chosen South Valley as the hangout spot for their evening out, one of its co-owners lay back in bed more than disgusted.  Had he ever expected to see Donovan and the _jomfru_ at the club?  When he first saw her, he was quite amused, because he felt fairly safe with just her around.  However, with Donovan in the mix, he was in deep trouble.  He didn't understand what Donovan and she were doing together anyway.  He had tried to keep tabs on the _jomfru_ through the years, because he didn't trust her.  Some day soon, she would hunt him down and try to take him out.  It was in her blood to do so.  He'd heard she was an assassin, and the thought made his blood run cold.  He glanced over at his wife who slept soundly beside him.  He hadn't mentioned the horrible evening to her yet.  He mostly kept her out of his business.  When _koner_ [wives] knew too much, some of them could become scared and run to the authorities.  He didn't want that to happen to his beautiful Ingrid.  She had bore him three beautiful children, all sons, and their fourth was on the way.  It would be a tragedy to eliminate his _gravid kone_ [pregnant wife].  He settled in bed again.  He would have to stop the _jomfru_ and Donovan before they stopped him.  It shouldn't be difficult to track them down.  Miami was a large city, but he knew people who would be more than willing to help him out.

*  *  *

When Pax awoke the next morning, the bed was deserted.  She figured that Donovan had gotten tired of wringing out his shirt and had gone back to his parents' house.  She actually couldn't blame him.  She had never done shit like that before, not around Frankie.  She stumbled into the bathroom and washed her face.  She looked like hammered dogshit.  Her face was puffy and her eyes red.  Utterly and completely ugly, that's what she was.  She came back out into the bedroom and the wonderful aroma of coffee wafted into the room.  He hadn't left at all.  He'd stayed to make coffee.  Oh gawd.  She just might have to pay him back up close and personal for that one.  She entered the small kitchen and noticed that he had just set up the coffee maker and was turning to leave the room.  He was barefoot with his shirt unbuttoned and untucked.  The dark skin of his chest was fully exposed to her.  Damn it.  Why did he have to look this fucking good in the morning?  It appeared that he had showered and put yesterday's clothes back on.  He said nothing to her.  Instead, he stood and gazed at her, obviously waiting for her to make the first move.  He knew everything about her now; every deep dark secret, and it startled the fuck out of her that he was still hanging around.  Of course, his being in prison for treasonous acts was pretty big shit, too.  She knew that the next thing they discussed would probably cause an enormous fight, but she didn't give a fuck.  She wanted to kill Keith Ahiga, wanted to see him squirm and suffer.  Donovan would want to take a more legitimate route, of course, but she didn't give a shit.

For a moment, though, neither of them had the desire to fight.  They'd wait.  He didn't move as she approached the coffee maker, waiting impatiently for it to brew.  God.  Why couldn't the damn thing go any faster?  While she waited, she heard Donovan approaching.  After a moment, she felt his hands resting against each side of her waist.  She sighed a little and felt her body leaning into him, seeking his heat, his comfort.  When he first began displaying this mushy shit, she didn't like it.  However, as time moved on, she was beginning to like it a little, but she wasn't a total pushover yet.  He stepped back a little when he felt her move.  She turned around and placed a gentle kiss on his chest.  He cupped her face and directed it toward his.  He kissed her softly and then allowed his lips to move to the side of her throat.  She plunged her hands into his short hair and let him have his way with her.  All the while, she listened for the coffee maker to finish.  She'd let him make love to her all day, but damn it, she needed a cup of coffee first.

He drew away and gazed down at her.  "Are you okay," he asked

She nodded.  "I'm fine.  I just need caffeine."

Donovan stepped back and leaned against the table.  He watched as she dug a cup out of the cabinet.  She poured herself a steaming mug and sipped it.  Goddamn.  He'd make some woman a fucking good husband some day.  When she finished, she set the cup aside.  She was going to try to cut it down to one cup a day.  No more.  But goddamn it, he knew how to make coffee.  If she hung around him for very long, that resolution would fly out the fucking window.  It was funny how they hadn't mentioned when he would leave.  She turned toward Donovan and saw that he was still waiting for her.  A night of confession would turn into a day of arguing.  She could feel it bubbling up, waiting to explode.  Quietly, she approached him, and bumped her hip into his, knocking him off center.  He watched amusedly as she boosted herself onto the table.  This table had been good to them, oh yes it had, but she didn't know if she could ever take a meal on it.  He turned toward her, resting his hand comfortably on her knee, moving it no further than that.

"Why did you pick that particular club last night?  Did you know he would be there?"

She shook her head.  "No, I didn't.  That was a complete surprise.  I sure as shit didn't choose it for the entertainment."

He chuckled.  "No, I wouldn't think so.  I wonder if that woman is in the hospital.  What was that you said?  I'm your man?"

"I told you I was possessive," she said with a smile.  "We're getting off track here, Frankie.  I chose that place, because it's the kind of joint he would go to, you know?  It's his style.  He liked wild shit like that.  I dressed like I did to appear different.  If he were there, I didn't want him to immediately know who I was.  You didn't even recognize me, not right away.  If I'd found him there, I would have followed him, and took him out.  He has to pay for what he did, and he's been walking around a free man far too long."

"Jonella, you can't do that.  You can't go out on a wild tangent and take this into your own hands.  Regardless of his guilt, right now, there's nothing tying him to any misdeed.  Did anyone see him the night he kidnapped your child?"  She shook her head.  He continued, "Do you understand what I'm saying?  What he did to you was horrible and I'd fucking kill him for you myself if I could get away with it, but I can't.  He nearly shot you down last night.  Is that what you want?  All this time, is that why your goal was to die?  You've been hurt beyond all reason, I cannot even imagine what you've gone through, but I know it has killed something inside you, something that you need to live and love.  Do you understand?"

She nodded.  "I understand, but I have to say this.  You have a daughter, Frankie, and I know you're crazy about her.  If this had happened to you, what would you do?"  He didn't immediately answer her, but she could see it in his eyes.  "You'd hunt him down until you took him out, wouldn't you?  I know you would.  Don't ask me not to pursue this, because I owe it to my son.  I owe him.  I'll never have another child.  He is and was the only one.  There are no second chances for me."

He sighed deeply.  "Would you at least wait until we're on him?  If Cody had the information before I left, it's only a matter of time.  If you go out like you are now, I can't protect you.  I don't want to see your face show up in my inbox, and that's exactly what would happen.  This man is wealthy, a politician, and he has ties everywhere.  You would go down and go down hard.  I don't want to be forced to hunt you down.  Please wait before you react."

Could she do it?  Could she really do it?  When she had seen the man last night, she had felt a red haze creeping across her eyes, engulfing her mind.  If she had caught him, she would have killed him without a thought, without an ounce of guilt entering her mind.  He hadn't shown any empathy toward his own son, so why would she show him any?  She wouldn't.  She didn't know if she could make such a promise.  He wouldn't wait if it were Stasia.  She knew this.  How did he expect her to?  He didn't understand.  He just fucking didn't understand.

"Jonella?"

She looked at him.  "I can't make any promises, Frankie.  If he comes near me, he's mine.  I won't go out scouting for him, but if he crosses my path, I'll fucking throw him in traffic.  If you must hunt me down, you must.  You know me, you know everything about me now, so it shouldn't be a hard task."

"You're mine, Jonella.  It's not a possessive thing or a sexual thing.  It's the plain, honest truth.  You're mine and I won't let you out of my sight.  If I have to move in here, I will.  If you have to come with me, you will.  Make your choice.  You won't go out and handle this yourself, I won't let you.  For once in your stubborn ass life, you're going to let me help.  Wait for the case and we'll get him.  Tell me.  Here or there?"

"You don't fucking own me," she said through clenched teeth.  

His dark eyes blazed with a strange amber fire.  He seemed possessed.  "No, I don't, but I own your heart and you own mine.  Make your fucking choice or I'll make it for you."

"One big happy fucking family, eh Spankie," she bit out.

He shook his head.  "Pack up your shit, you're coming with me."

*  *  *

Donovan pulled the car into the driveway.  He noticed that his mother was out digging around in the garden.  His daughter was out with her, her head covered by a cap, and her arms glistened with sunscreen.  

"Frankie, I don't want to do this," she said.

"Tough shit.  It's done.  Put on the ring."

She stared down at the warped looking silver band he had picked up at a pawnshop on the way over.  "I fucking hate this."

He glanced over at her.  "Can you say that a dozen more times?  Get out of the fucking car and act like a fucking newlywed wife," he growled.

She jammed the ring on her finger and opened the passenger side door.  Donovan got out of the car and went back to the trunk.  She didn't have much, but most of the stuff she owned couldn't be worn around his folks.  Anneliese looked up when she heard the door slamming.  She shaded her eyes against the sunlight and saw that he had not come alone.  He had brought with him a tall leggy woman dressed in a plain white cotton dress.  Stasia looked up and squealed when she saw her father.  Anneliese noticed that the little girl recognized the woman with her son.  _This must be the woman with whom he is involved._

Donovan set the suitcase down as he scooped his daughter up in his arms.  She goggled at Pax and uttered the word 'spoon.'  Anneliese approached the couple slowly and noticed that the woman was wearing a silver band on her left hand ring finger.  Interesting.  Her son had been out for an entire night and part of the day.  She tapped her chin thoughtfully.  What was going on here?

He leaned forward and kissed his mother's cheek.  "Sorry I was gone so long, but a few distractions held me at bay."

"Quite all right," she said.  "I wasn't worried."

Donovan glanced at Pax, begging her with his eyes to behave.  "Mom, I want you to meet my wife, Jonella," he said.   


	9. Jonella Donovan

**JONELLA…DONOVAN?**

Donovan watched as Anneliese gazed at the woman he had called his 'wife.'  She knew that his divorce from Remy was still fresh.  This woman was his…rebound wife?  She certainly didn't fit the mode of his typical girlfriend.  While Anneliese blinked at her son's new 'wife,' Donovan stared at Pax from the periphery of his eye.  _If you make one wrong move, Jonella, I'll fucking strangle you_.  

"Wife," Anneliese said, finally speaking.  "Is this where you were all night?"  He nodded, a little shamefacedly.  She gazed up at Pax [_she is certainly a tall one_].  "Well, I would have preferred to have met her first, of course, but welcome to the family."

Pax drew in a shocked breath as Donovan's mother embraced her.  So startled was she that she didn't know how to react.  She noticed that Frankie's eyes were boring into her, threatening her life if she so much as breathed wrong.  She glanced over at him and grinned, her eyes twinkling evilly.  She returned Anneliese's hug.  "Thank you so very much, Mrs. Donovan," she said, her voice taken down an octave, not mocking but almost sugary.

Donovan shook his head incredulously.  She was doing a fairly good imitation of Remy.  His hands itched to wrap around her throat.  _I cannot wait to get you alone_, he thought.  When they broke their embrace, Pax looked toward Donovan with a smirk that he longed to smack off her face.  In turn, his mother glanced at him with her dark eyes.  He had seen this look a thousand times as a boy:  _You are so in trouble, Mister_.  He looked away from his mother's accusatory glare, feeling like a little boy, and picked up Pax's suitcase.  They entered the house and his mother called for Kane.  He came out and around from the kitchen and laid his eyes curiously on the tall woman standing beside his son.  Pax rebounded a little.  She was looking at what Frankie would look like thirty years from now. 

Anneliese turned toward her husband.  "Love, this is Frank's new wife, Jonella."

He was as shocked as her:  "Wife?"

As Pax was settling in Frankie's little room and laughing her ass off, Donovan was seated with his parents in the kitchen.  Once again, he felt like a child.  How many times had he been before his parents like this?  He felt a little ashamed.  They weren't going to read him the riot act of course, he was grown, but they certainly wanted an explanation.  Donovan wasn't sure he could give them one.  _God if only I could tell them it's a fake marriage, but if I did that, they'd boot Pax out right on her ass.  _His arms were folded in front of him and he drummed his fingers on the table.  When he became aware of that, he drew them down in his lap.  He cursed Remy for prompting that new annoying habit.  Of course, he was also eager to get back to the room with Pax.  He intended to have a little discussion with her after his parents read him the riot act.  From the time they'd arrived, she was copying every little thing that Remy did.  She was doing it on purpose and when he saw her…

"Frank?  You're an adult and I don't want to lecture you, but are you sure you did the right thing," Anneliese began.  "It hasn't really been that long since your divorce and this woman seems so…different than the type of girl you've dated before."

He sighed.  God would he hate himself in the morning when he said this.  "I understand your concern and I appreciate it.  Jonella is…special to me and I love her.  The divorce is quite new, but I can assure you that I know what I'm doing.  You'll see that she is very good for me and my daughter."

"As long as you know what you're doing," Kane said, "I suppose we can't say anything."

*  *  *

Dinner was a complete and total adventure.  Pax came out dressed in her floral print dress again and had her hair up neatly, not one strand out of place.  Her persona was that of Remy again, and Donovan ached to yell at her to cut it out.  How in the hell could he act as if he were a happy, goofy newlywed husband if she continued pushing his buttons?  She sat close to him, probably on purpose and went on and on about the food.  His parents acted polite but were disturbed.  After all, she _was_ acting like Remy, and they hadn't been impressed with her.  He longed to dig his fingers into her thigh to shut her up.  Of course, it wouldn't work, not with the woman being Jonella fucking Paxton.  At one point in the evening, Pax finally stopped rambling, but only because she was drinking coffee [Donovan had learned that particular talent from his mother] and in the throes of some kind of mental orgasm.  Donovan breathed a little easily and relaxed a bit.  He had been stiff the whole afternoon and evening.  He was guarding his 'wife' to ensure that she didn't start uttering a string of curses in front of his parents.  At any time, she was bound to explode.  She had to be going through potty mouth withdrawal.  His mind began to drift until he felt Pax's hand on his thigh, drifting ever so close…  He came back to reality with a start and covered her hand with his.  His grip on her hand was tight, like a steel vise.  There was a clear message in that grip:  _cut the shit_.  However, she didn't cut the shit.  She wiggled her hand, worked it tirelessly, until she had it completely out of his.  It finally reached its target and he grabbed it again, this time, holding onto her wrist.  _God, I'm going to kill her when I get her alone.  I'll spend the rest of my life in prison, but it'll be worth it_.    

After fighting with her under the table for more than twenty minutes, dinner ended.  Donovan about died when Pax offered to help his parents clean up.  He had no intention of leaving her behind with them, but he had to put Stasia down for the night.  He was gone no longer than ten minutes and he made sure he popped back into the kitchen as soon as he could.  Pax was still helping with the clean up duties and the strangest thing happened.  She was making his mother and father…_laugh_.  Dear God.  _Please don't let her be telling crude jokes.  Please don't let her be telling them things parents should never know about their children.  Please oh please oh please_.  He was completely and utterly exhausted, but he couldn't rest until Pax went to bed first.  However, he didn't know if he could make it.  Perhaps he could trust her for a bit.  She was acting relatively okay and his mother seemed to enjoy her company.  Sighing, he had to give up.  He said goodnight to everyone, Pax calling "will be with you in a bit, honey," in his wake.  He grumbled incoherently and went into the bathroom.  After stripping down, he turned on the water, waited for it to get hot, and he climbed inside.  The hot water felt glorious beating on his tense muscles.  Dear God, had anything ever felt so wonderful?  When he fell into bed [face first], he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

Pax stood looming over the small bed.  Her 'mother in-law' apologized profusely for the sleeping arrangements, but Pax assured her that she didn't mind at all.  Uh uh.  No way.  They were, after all, newlyweds.  He was deeply asleep, hogging the entire bed [of course].  She approached the bed and lifted the covers.  Ah, now how fair was this?  He was wearing pajama bottoms.  It would make her job trickier, but not impossible.  She slid into bed, bumping him slightly.  He grunted, cursing under his breath, and moved over as far to the edge of the bed as he could get.  Thank God the thing was crammed up against the far wall.  However, she was not deterred.  She pressed her body against his, and he came awake with a start.  Goddamn it.  She was fucking naked.  What the hell did she think she was doing?  He didn't want to kiss her tonight, much less make love to her.  She snaked her arm around his waist and glided her hand gently over his abdomen.  

"Not tonight," he grumbled, "You are my headache."

"Ah, Fwankie, don't be that way," she whispered mockingly, her voice drifting down in his ear.  "We're newlyweds.  Newlyweds spend most of their honeymoon in bed.  Didn't you learn anything from your first honeymoon?"  Her hand continued to stroke his abdomen.  She had yet to venture lower, she was waiting for that.  "Come on, baby, don't you love me anymore?"

"I love you fine," he growled, "but cut the shit.  Shut up and go to sleep."

Her tongue snaked out and ran delicately over his ear.  "Come on, hubby, you don't mean that.  Say it ain't so.  Aren't I going to get my wedding night?"  Her teeth nipped his earlobe, and she heard a sharp intake of breath.  Hmm.  She was getting to him, perhaps?  "Come on, Frankie, make love to your little wifey."

"Would you please stop it and go to sleep," he demanded harshly.  "Goddamn it, Pax, are you fucking cracked?"  However, he wasn't in a big hurry to remove her hand or move away from her probing tongue.

"You wanted me the other day, didn't you?  Why don't you want me now?  Come on, it's…sort of legal now, you know?"  She leaned over him a little and noticed his eyes were closed tightly.  Her hand continued its caress over his lower abdomen.  With a wide, arcing swoop, her hand suddenly and unexpectedly dove into his pajama bottoms.  She didn't touch him right away.  Instead, she moved her hand around as much skin as possible without touching him directly.  She smiled when she noticed the harsh change in his breathing.  "That's more like it," she whispered.  "Come on, make love to your wifey, Frankie.  I'll make you scream."

"You're fucked, Pax, completely fucked," he said, his voice not steady.  "Stop and go to sleep."

"I know you don't mean that, you big hunk o' man," she whispered before darting her tongue over his ear again.  "Let's see if I can work on that head…ache."  She drew the pajama bottoms down the slightest bit as her hand finally fell on him.  Her caress was loose, but slow.  He was trying so hard to keep up the gruff exterior, but he was losing.  "Oh yeah, that head…ache is going away, isn't it, hubby?  Going away and bringing on something else, huh?"  He took in a hissing breath.  "Oooh," she said, "I heard that.  Want me to stop and go to sleep now?"

His pulse booming at his temples, his erection throbbing painfully, he took her hand away and turned toward her.  "No," he said, reaching for her.

She drew back out of reach, nearly falling on her ass again.  "Not so fast," she said, her eyes twinkling evilly yet again.  "I think your headache is contagious."

Just before she got out of bed completely, he reached for her again, catching her.  "The hell you say.  Your job is far from finished."  She tried to get away, but his grip was strong, and he managed to drag her back.  "Get your ass back here," he said.  Pinning her beneath him, he parted her thighs almost ruthlessly.  "You won't leave me like this again, not until the ache is completely gone."

"You're vile, Frankie, vile and disgusting," she said.

Her words were meant to be hurtful and angered, but they didn't come out that way at all.  There was hunger in them, need.  "Shut up," he whispered.  "Just shut up," he said as his mouth covered hers.  She made a small, yipping sound as he entered her. 

*  *  *

The next morning, Donovan awoke alone.  He sat up suddenly, a little anxious, and began searching for his pajama bottoms.  He found them at the foot of the bed, ripped to shreds.  _Jesus Christ, what the hell were we doing last night_?  He threw them aside and dug out a robe.  Before he did anything this morning, he had to check on Pax, to make sure she hadn't taken off after Keith Ahiga.  He didn't find anyone in the house at all.  Fuck.  He put his hand on the doorknob when he heard low voices coming from the backyard.  He stepped out onto the porch and found his mother and Pax sitting out on the covered porch swing, his daughter between them.  When Pax noticed him, she gave him a lascivious grin and winked.  Yes.  She was still fucking with him, trying to dominate the battle.  Even after a night of making love to her until he thought he'd die from fluid loss, he still ached to choke her.  Sighing a little, he turned and reentered the house.

Donovan was just getting out of the shower and into his clothes when Pax barged in on him.  Two things entered his mind at once.  The first was to grab her, throw her on the bed, and show her who was boss.  The second was to shove her up against the wall and strangle her.  Which of the two did he like best?  Hmm.  He sat on the side of the bed and worked on buttoning his shirt.  He couldn't look at her for a moment.  She was decked out in 'normal' clothes again:  modest knee-length shorts and a shirt tied under her breasts.  Her wild hair was tamed and braided.  He wondered how she had gotten her hands on so many 'normal' outfits.  He found himself missing the severely short mini-skirts, and even the fucking spike heels.  Jesus Christ he wanted her again.

"Did you think I split, Frankie," she asked, amused.

"I never know what you're doing, Jonella.  I want you to be careful…"

She sighed.  "I'm not going to do anything in front of your parents, Frankie.  Fuck.  Give me some credit.  I thought I was acting fairly…"

"Psycho," Donovan said.  "Don't play your shit with me, Pax, I've seen it enough to know when you're fucking with me.  Cut the play-acting.  You can be yourself, I _want_ you to be yourself, just a toned down version.  Is that too much to ask?  Don't act like Remy.  She's a completely different person than you.  Her behavior, attitude, and style are not you."

"Does that disappoint you," she bit back.

He sighed angrily and stood.  Before she knew it, he had her pinned against the door.  "You want to know what disappoints me," he asked.  "Do you?  What pisses me off more than anything is your constant self-abuse.  Whatever happened to you in the past wasn't because you're unlovable or ugly or vicious.  Stop it, Jonella.  It kills me to hear you so fucking down on yourself.  Acting like Remy disappoints me, but only because I like you…no…I love you the way you are.  This exterior is a mask and I understand why you wear it, but stop cutting yourself down.  You irritate me, goad me, push my buttons, work me up so badly that I think I'll die before I let out the steam, but I love you.  I fell in love with _you_, not some fake image, not some other mask that you're fond of wearing."

"You do know what you're getting into, don't you?"

He smiled a little.  "I do.  I've known."  He leaned down and kissed her deeply.  His hand moved up to cup her breast.  "Should we…continue the honeymoon," he asked against her lips.

"You mean to tell me that after last night, you've still got enough in you to go again?"

He pressed his lower body into hers.  "You tell me," he said, his lips nuzzling the side of her neck.

"Oh yeah," she said.  "Have you always been this insatiable?"

"Mmm hmm."  He worked the knot loose in her top and slipped his hand inside.  No bra.  She did love him, after all.  He longed to rip her hair out of its braid and plunge his hand into it, but how far could they go before someone interrupted them?  A quickie up against the door?  He was certain they could pull it off.  

Reading his mind, her hands reached down, but before she could lay her hands on his zipper, his cell phone twittered.  Drawing away from her was the last thing he wanted to do, but this could be the call they were waiting for.  Slowly, he pulled away and went for the phone before his voice mail kicked on.  

"Donovan," he said.

"It's Cody, Boss, as if you wouldn't know.  Would you like some company in Miami?"

He closed his eyes, relieved.  Finally.  "We have Raynor?"

"Yup.  Apparently, the FBI has been watching him closely.  He co-owns a bunch of clubs out there, but most of them are fronts for covert activities, money laundering, arms dealing, you know, the standard stuff.  We heard the guy wanted to run for the senate next year.  The club he uses the most is…South Valley."

Donovan closed his eyes and sighed deeply.  They were just there.  Fuck.  "Very good.  Thank you, Cody.  Get to Miami ASAP and call me when you're settled in.  Prepare the team, Jonella is on this one as well, at least on the periphery."

"Jake will be so pleased," he said amusedly.  "See you shortly."

Pax was waiting expectantly.  She watched Donovan snap the phone closed.  "Well?  Do we have him?"

He nodded.  "We have him."

"What you said, Frank, about me being on the periphery, that won't work for me.  If I see him first, he's mine.  Do you understand?"

He stood and approached her again.  Taking gentle hold of her forearms, he gazed down at her.  "You are on the periphery, Jonella, and there you will stay.  Your mental capacity to handle this is nil, and I refuse to put someone on a case who cannot deal with it and stay out of danger in the process.  You will stay with me, watching and waiting, perhaps on surveillance, but you will not go out.  I refuse to allow it."

"Frank, you don't-"

"No," he said, interrupting her.  "We'll get him, we'll take him down, but we have to do it my way.  Trust me.  Put your trust in me, put all of it in me, and I'll do whatever it takes to help you.  Can you do it?  _Will _you do it?"

His dark eyes were boring into hers intensely, holding her captive to their warmth and their seriousness.  Her first instinct was to lie to him, tell him what he wanted to hear, and then do what she wanted to anyway, but she couldn't act on that.  He had laid so much on the line for her, and she was finally convinced, finally understood that he did love her.  He wasn't just saying the words to fuck her or fuck with her mind.  She wanted to see Ahiga squirm for what he had done to her son, but she couldn't break a promise once it was made, not in this situation, not anymore.

"I will," she said softly, "I'll do it.  But you have to promise that you'll get him and make him pay.  It was something I promised Lee over his coffin, Frank, and it's one that I want to keep, one that I _must _keep.  If you can promise that, if you can guarantee it, I'll do whatever you want."

"There are no guarantees, you know this," he said.  "What I can say is that I'll do everything in my power to keep you from breaking the promise you made to your son.  Will that satisfy you?  Is it good enough?"

She nodded.  "It'll have to be."         


	10. Stake Outs

STAKE-OUTS

There was very little that Donovan wanted to start without the team's presence.  Of course, Pax was ready to go barging into South Valley and demanding Ahiga's address.  It took sheer iron will to keep her sane and in line with her promise.  It was a very bizarre three days waiting and watching.  Donovan wasn't sure he had actually spent seventy-two hours straight with Pax, especially not sleeping in the same bed.  He was sure they had been together for days at a time in the jungle, but not like this.  As the awkwardness slid away, Pax rid herself of the 'Remy' veneer and acted a bit more like herself [just a thankful toned down version].  However, at night, she transformed into the same foul-mouthed viper she always was.  After the first night, both of them felt a bit odd sleeping together like they were, cramped up, playing 'newlyweds.'  It was the weirdest damn thing either of them had ever experienced [and they experienced a lot of weird things].  Then another thing, the little scene between them after he received the phone call from Cody seemed to have changed their relationship just a tad.  It was weird for Pax to finally lay her trust totally in another person, especially a man.  He had also actually gotten her to talk about her son a little, to bring some of it out.  Not the horror of his death, necessarily, but the good things.  He discovered that her little boy had an affinity for banging spoons against pots and pans, just like his Stasia.  She told him how Lee enjoyed being read to, how he liked snuggling with her, and how she never thought she'd love a child so much.  While she spoke about her son, Donovan had never heard such love dripping from her words.  She could talk about hating mushy shit all she wanted, but he was more than certain she had been a damn good mother.  He told her that and it made her cry.  It wasn't sadness, exactly, but she had never been told she was 'damn good' at anything other than taking people out.  She steered him away from talk of her son [the memories were still painful] and drew them toward her time as an assassin.  She admitted that the faces of her 'units' sometimes haunted her at night and that she was more than glad to be rid of it.  It was the first time she had ever admitted that to him.  Donovan talked about his short time in prison, rotting away for something he didn't do, and the fear that he wouldn't be released.  He spoke of the hurt, the sense of betrayal, and his time away from the whole deal, pondering his life, what it all meant.  He shared the story of his love for Cloe Lomax and the fact that he, too, had lost a child.

The things they shared that first night made them feel strange, but somehow weirdly…connected.  Pax had only spilled her guts because she had finally found someone whom she could trust with anything, including her life.  Donovan did because he, too, trusted her, finally trusted her after so long a time not.  He had to admit that it was a wonderful feeling, one alien to them both, at least with each other.  He liked the fact that Pax had a vulnerable side, liked that she didn't mind showing it to him.  Oddly enough, in an almost twisted perverted way, it did seem as if they were married.  Weird, but true.  He made love to her that night and it felt like the night after he poured out his heart about his imprisonment.  It was slow, easy, and not the least bit rushed.  There were no games, no torturous flirting, no fighting or arguing.  It was just two people sharing closeness, intimacy, and love.  At the end of it, he told her he loved her and she returned the sentiment.  They had said it to each other before, of course, but even the way they said it was different.  The same thing happened between them night after night.  Even in the daytime, it was the same.  As much as she annoyed the shit out of him, he also couldn't manage to keep away from her.  He couldn't count the number of times he'd go searching for her in the middle of the day, feeling like a love starved dog, until he found her.  God, what was happening to him?  To them?

On the third day, it was Pax's turn to search out Donovan.  He had risen before her, and she actually missed the fucker lying beside her.  She had come to feel the same silly way about him as he did her.  Donovan was sitting out on the back porch in an old wicker chair.  He was drinking a cup of coffee and staring out into the back yard.  She came up behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders.  He sighed a little, enjoying her touch [Jesus…what the fuck].  One of her hands came up, touching his neck lightly, before proceeding to the back of his head.  She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp just a little.  He closed his eyes and leaned back, giving her clearer access.  After a moment, her hand moved down and caressed the side of his face and down to his scruffy jaw.  She noticed he had yet to shave.  Her hands traveled back down to his shoulders and moved down to the middle of his chest so that her lips were even with his ear.  She gave it a gentle kiss, running her tongue along it delicately.  Had he made love to her today?  He didn't think so.  Perhaps they could go inside before everyone awoke.  When she felt his body shifting, she moved back.  He stood and faced her, taking her into his arms, and kissing her deeply.

"I want you," he said.  "Let's go in before everyone wakes up."

"No," she said against his lips.  "Do me out here."

He looked at her incredulously.  "Jonella?  Are you crazy?"

"No…well maybe yes," she said with a smile.  "Come on.  If we go to the corner of the porch, by the swing, no one will see us.  By the time someone does, we'll be done."  She took his hand.  "Come on, Frankie.  We're both still in our nighties and I'm so naked under this robe.  How about you?"

God he wanted her.  Was he considering it?  Oh yes he was.  "We need to make it fast," he whispered.

"I know how to fire you off, don't worry about that.  Come on."

*  *  *

By the time the rest of the house had risen, Donovan and Pax were in the kitchen arguing over who could make the best omelet.  Of course, Pax should have let Donovan win that particular argument, because she was not domestically inclined.  The two of them stood arguing, fighting over a saucepan, when Anneliese entered the kitchen.  They didn't notice her at first.  They were too entrenched in their argument.  For a moment, she watched them.  Eventually Pax threatened to smack Donovan on the head with the saucepan and he gave it over to her, only to have her throw it in he sink and declare:  "Why the hell do you need a damn saucepan anyway?"  He sighed in disgust:  "_Ahhhh_."  Pax stood back with her arms crossed, mumbling under her breath, Anneliese thought she heard her call her son a 'prick.'  She laughed a little and that's when they finally noticed her.  Both of them glanced at each other shamefacedly.

"Already arguing and what's it been, four days," Anneliese asked with a smile.

Donovan fixed his eyes on Pax.  "Jonella can be stubborn, can't she?"

She fixed her eyes on him.  "Me?  Stubborn?  Bullhead Donovan is calling _me_ stubborn."

"If the two of you aren't going to cook, would you remove yourselves so I can," Anneliese asked.

The two of them exchanged a look:  _Bed?  You betcha_.

*  *  *

Donovan was getting into his clothes [again] when his cell phone rang.  He reached over for it.  He recognized the number.  Cody.  The team was here.  Leaving Stasia in the capable hands of his parents, he and Pax took his father's car to the hotel the team had chosen.  When the team members saw Donovan leading Pax by the hand into the room, their jaws literally dropped open.  What was this?  The two people who fought like a mongoose and cobra were hand-in-hand?  Shit.  What was even more shocking was that they noticed the band on Pax's ring finger.  A wedding band?  Oh, God.  Surely not.  When they last saw Jonella Paxton, they'd all heard her declaration of love for the boss, but they also knew she had left and skipped out, or so they thought.

"Boss?  Either my eyes are playing tricks on me or I'm seeing a wedding ring on her finger," Cody asked, awed and stunned at the same time.  

As if noticing they were caught, they each let go of the others' hand at the same time.  _Why the fuck should either of us feel embarrassed_?  "It's not a wedding ring, Cody," Donovan said.

"It looks it," he said, pressing the issue.

He sighed.  "If you must know, it's a cover for her so that I can keep her from running after our target."

"Mrs. Goddamn Donovan," Jake said incredulously.

Pax fixed her blue eyes on Jake's face.  God she hated this saucy little prick.  "You got that right, Mr. Goddamn Shaw."

Donovan sighed.  "_Enough_.  We're never going to get anything done if you're picking at each other."  He sighed and regrouped a little.  "Cody we need a physical address for Raynor.  Have you had any luck finding him?"

"I couldn't find anything under Tore Raynor, but I did find an address for his alter ego, Keith Ahiga."  He handed Donovan a slip of paper with an address.  "He has a wife and three children, ages two, six, and eight with one on the way."

Donovan shot Pax a look after that, and he could see the seething anger boiling in the depths of her dark blue eyes.  _Remember your promise, Jonella.  Remember it_, his eyes seemed to say.  She had clasped her hands tightly in front of her.  "A family.  Is the wife in the business?"

Cody shook his head.  "Nope, not from the looks of it.  She's a typical housewife."

He nodded absently.  After this meeting, Pax would definitely need to talk and vent.  "Very good.  Monica, dig up Ahiga's CIA profile.  Get any information you can find.  If you need clearance, we'll get it.  Jake and Alex, I want you to start staking out a club called South Valley.  I'll give you the address.  Study Ahiga's face, learn his habits, follow him if you have to.  Pax and I will station ourselves outside his residence and keep an eye on the wife and children."

"Hey, Agent Shaw," Pax called sweetly.  "There's this little gal over at South Valley who is perfect for you.  Her name is Iona, but I think she has a few teeth missing.  You wouldn't mind that, would you?"

After the impromptu meeting was dismissed, Cody and Monica began setting up the computer and surveillance equipment they would need while Alex and Jake went out to rent a couple of vans.  Pax had managed to persuade Cody to let her see photographs of Ahiga and his family.  Donovan hadn't witnessed this exchange.  She carried the photos over to the corner of the room and sat down with them.  It appeared that she was reading something, and perhaps her behavior wouldn't garner Donovan's attention right away.  If he caught her doing this, he'd shit.  Since hearing Ahiga had a two-year-old, she needed to see the boy.  She impatiently flipped through the photos, barely glancing at Ahiga and his wife.  Toward the middle of the pile, she found a surveillance photo of the mother with her children.  She drew in a pained gasp when she gazed down into the face of the youngest child.  He looked just like her Lee.  She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob.  The pain.  The incredible gut wrenching pain.  She felt as if she was going to lose her mind.  Whimpering pitifully, she stacked the other photos on top of it.  She couldn't look at it anymore.  Why was she being punished this way?  Was it some kind of retribution thing because of all the people she killed?  Was that it?  Why was it fair that this monster had produced another child so much like her Lee?  Why was it fair that this monster had reproduced at all?  Jesus.  Fucking Jesus.  Oh God.  If she had a gun, she'd blow her brains out.  She couldn't take this.

Donovan looked up when he saw Pax bolt into the bathroom.  Before she ran inside, she tossed a folder down on the floor.  Several photos slid out.  Carefully, he approached the discarded folder and could hear Pax getting sick.  He kneeled down and shuffled through the pictures.  Furious, he gathered them up and whirled around to face Cody and Monica.  "_Who the fuck gave her this_?"

Startled, both of them looked up.  "Uh…Boss…I did," Cody said.  "She-ah…wanted to see them."

"_Jesus fucking Christ_," he roared.  "Do you realize what you've done?"  He stopped.  Of course Cody didn't know what he had done.  They didn't know.  He shook his head and tossed the photos onto a table.  "Take them and put them away.  If she asks to see them again, don't let her.  Whoever does it will answer directly to me.  Understood?"

"Ah…sure," Cody stuttered.  He had never heard Donovan explode like that.

Donovan was about to go to the bathroom to see about Pax, but before he could, she came out on her own.  She had washed her face, but her eyes were still red from crying.  He went to her and gently touched the side of her cheek.  "Are you okay," he asked softly.

"Fuck no," she whispered, "I'm not.  He…He looks like Lee, Frank.  Why is that fair?  Can you tell me that?  Why?  I'm being punished, I know I am, punished for the shit I did.  You don't have to yell at them.  I asked and he gave over.  I needed to see."

"I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry," he said before taking her into his arms and holding onto her tightly.

With wide eyes, Monica and Cody watched the exchange.  They had seen Donovan and Pax at each other's throats, cursing each other out, fighting, spitting, and clawing, but never this.  He was tender with her, gentle and loving.  They wondered if he had been lying when he said their marriage was only for show.  It seemed as if they felt they were the only two people in the room, and both Cody and Monica felt like intruders.  He was about to lay a deep kiss on her until he realized that they weren't exactly alone.  As they had done earlier, they broke apart hurriedly, embarrassed again.  Pax went one way, Donovan another.

Hours later, Cody and Monica had the hotel room set up almost perfectly.  They had everything they needed to keep tabs on everybody.  Most of the time, Donovan lingered with his agents and awaited Alex and Jake's return.  He glanced over his shoulder at one point and saw Pax gazing out of the window.  She was playing with the ring on her finger and mumbling under her breath.  In just a few days, he had learned more about her than he had ever extracted from her the entire length of their bizarre relationship.  He ached to go to her, to hold her, but he hesitated.  _Why?_  _Why am I hesitating?  Why should we give a fuck what anyone says or thinks?  We love each other.  What's wrong with that?_  He made a move to do what he wanted, but was interrupted by the arrival of Jake and Alex.  It was time to stakeout.

*  *  *

South Valley was jumping tonight.  Jake and Alex entered the club decked out like ravers.  They had literally memorized every line and curve of Keith Ahiga's face.  If they saw him tonight, they'd be sure to recognize him.  The thumping music drummed into their heads, vibrated in their throats, and nearly made the fillings in their teeth throb.  Jake saw the woman Pax had spoken about.  She was out on the floor performing again.  _Hideous.  Fucking hideous._  However, she did seem vaguely familiar to him.  He wondered [in the same vague way] if she had ever performed in Chicago before.  He shook it off and held on tighter to Alex's arm.  Every few moments, they would give the all clear to everyone listening in.

*  *  *

Keith Ahiga's home was a sprawling mansion on several acres of prime land.  If Donovan had to guess what it was worth, he'd say around two million.  The house was large, sprawling, and lit up like a cathedral.  Not much had been happening in the last two hours.  They had seen dozens of housekeepers and such coming and going.  Apparently, the Ahiga's were preparing for a party of some kind.  Every now and then, Pax demanded the night vision binoculars.  If anyone wanted to spot Ahiga, it was she.  Donovan was afraid she was trying to see the child, trying to torture herself more.  He was worried about her and they had talked a little about it, but she didn't want to go into it.  She would, eventually, but not now.  

"Looka here," Pax said, "this must be the wife."

Donovan took the proffered binoculars and looked out.  A pregnant woman was climbing out of a snazzy BMW, heralding two of her sons, and a few packages.  "What a normal picture they paint."

She huffed.  "Whatever.  This shit isn't fucking normal.  Wonder if he knocked her up before he married her or after?  Oops, sawry Frankie.  Forgot that's how you got your daughter."

He laughed a little.  "I'm not offended, it's okay."

"What a happy little family.  Looks really disgusting," she said, screwing up her face.

For ten minutes or more they traded off the binoculars.  After another ten minutes, conversation had died down between them.  It was so quiet in the van that they could hear crickets chirping and frogs begging for rain.  It was still and calm, almost too calm.  Donovan glanced at Pax.  She was transfixed on the house, obsessively scanning it.  He turned away for a moment, but ended up looking at her again.

"Jonella," he said suddenly, breaking the silence, "Have you ever thought about getting married?"

The question stunned her a little, shocked her.  She laid down the binoculars and gazed at him curiously.  "Married?  Me?  Uhhhh, nope.  Wait a minute, Frankie, you're not fucking proposing to me, are you?"

_Am I_?  He shook his head and smiled a little, his face reddening just the slightest bit.  He felt caught.  "I thought that's what you'd say.  No, I'm not asking, I'm just curious."

He wouldn't look at her when he said it.  _You big liar_.  "You know, if I was somebody else, I'd say yes."

_Could you be someone else?_  "If you were someone else, perhaps I'd ask."

When the subject was abruptly dropped a few moments later, neither of them broached it again.  What should have been an awkward silence between them wasn't.  It was comforting not needing to speak a word.

"Fuck me," Pax cried out suddenly.

"What," Donovan said, "What is it?"

"It's the fucker.  It's the fucking fucker."

He ripped the binoculars from her hand and brought them up to his eyes.  She was right.  "We can't move on him yet, Jonella.  Wait until he leaves again."

"Goddamn, I hate this fucking surveillance shit."

"We'll take shifts, rotating every two or three hours," he said.  "I'll inform Cody, and he can have Jake and Alex on standby."  

"Frankie," she protested.

"Try to sleep, Jonella, I'll take first watch."

"You prick," she grumbled.

He glanced at her with a wicked grin.  "Stop trying to arouse me.  Shut up and go to sleep."

She held out her left hand.  "Take your fucking ring back, Frankie.  The goddamn honeymoon is over."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him.  He kissed her softly.  "You wish.  For the hundredth time, Jonella, try to sleep."

"Yes, my dearest sweetest love," she said sarcastically.  "Witless fucker," she mumbled as she settled back.


	11. Near Miss

NEAR MISS

It was morning, but hard to tell in the confines of their super spy van.  Pax shook her head.  How damn secret agent man could one get?  The van was the most horrid cliché ever, but it served a few practical purposes here and there.  Hopefully, Ahiga wouldn't be so bold as to notice it and do anything about it, not with his wife and children in the home.  The fucker wouldn't risk them.  He had only sacrificed her son.  She had been gazing out the window for the entire span of her 'watch.'  Donovan was conked out a few inches away, snoring lightly.  _Fucking snoring?  Since when did he start doing that?_  Ugh.  She had gotten a little too comfortable with Frankie lately, hadn't she?  She liked the shift in their relationship, but it was scarier than shit, especially his tentative hint at marriage.  _Marriage_?  For God's sake, had she ever thought of herself as anyone's wife, especially Frank Donovan's?  Damn.  It freaked her out and she gave him a wisecracking answer instead of pouring her heart out [as usual].  For the last few days, they had literally acted like a newlywed couple.  She had even heard his parents commenting on how 'cute' they were when they argued.  But that wasn't what startled her the most.  Pax was not a woman who blushed easily, but one evening, she had heard the elder Donovan's comment how their son and his new wife acted like they did when they were younger.  It was horrifying realizing that they _knew_.  Duh.  Of course they knew.  It was their fucking house, but then again, they were married themselves, they knew what married people did.  Shit.  She had to stop thinking about it that way.  _They were not fucking married_.  She sighed heavily, tempted to throw something at Donovan to break his snoring.  It was cute, but fucking irritating.  

Pax held her breath as she saw some light activity around the house.  Mostly, it was just the hired help, gardeners and the like.  She shook her head incredulously as a woman stepped out and picked up the morning paper.  _He's even too fucking lazy to pick up his own goddamn paper_.  She was very close to bolting out of the van and making a run for the front of the house, but she hesitated as soon as she heard another soft snore emitting from Frankie.  She had made him a promise and she was determined to keep it.  As much as it hurt, as angry as she was, she wouldn't go back on her word.  The fucker snoring behind her meant a fucking lot to her now, and hurting him intentionally wasn't something she wanted to do.  When he blew out another snore, she reached behind her and smacked his ankle.  He came awake suddenly as if she had thrown a cup of cold water in his face.  Irritated, he wanted to deck her, but he hesitated.  That would come later; they had to stay focused on their quarry.  Without a sound, he reached for his cell phone to check in with the team.

*  *  *

Tore Raynor stretched and yawned.  Morning was the best time of the day for him.  He became renewed and refreshed at the dawn of a new day.  Each one brought new opportunities, new adventures.  For the time being, he had even forgotten about the _jomfru_ [virgin] and Frank Donovan.  They were the least worries in his mind.  Beside him, Ingrid moaned softly in her sleep, her belly huge and rippling before his very eyes.  He laid his hand on her stomach and reveled in the feel of his son kicking at him strongly.  This boy would be his strongest yet.  He so loved his wife for bringing such joy, so many strong sons, and so many heirs.  Some day, they would follow in his footsteps and take their rightful places.  He enjoyed his role as a father.  He loved his boys greatly and spent as much time with them as he could.  Of course, he left their care in the complete hands of his wife and the nanny.  Tore Raynor would not wipe a snotty nose or change a shitty diaper, not in this lifetime.  It was strictly meant for women.  Yet, he would do everything else expected of a father.  He thought of himself as a good father, a caring one, and he wouldn't hesitate to die for his children.  

His mind wondered very briefly to the _jomfru_.  She had obviously set out to destroy him, ruin his life, and for what?  He had only been trying to love his son.  Who was the better caretaker for him?  It wasn't her, that he knew.  She was a single mother, a slut, who spread her legs repeatedly for him.  She was a woman who cared so little for her virginity that she gave it to the first man who touched her.  Of course, he didn't see his role in it, didn't care to.  He hated the _jomfru_ and had cringed when he was told that he would have to seduce her.  Couldn't his mission have been carried out some other way?  She was a wimpy woman, a weak one, she should have produced him a daughter, not a son.  If she had had a daughter, none of the horror would have happened.  He wouldn't have cared as much.  Daughters were nothing to a man, only extra baggage to marry off or to care for the rest of their lives.  It was her fault his son was run down in the street, her fault that she carried such anger in her heart.  If Frank Donovan hadn't been flanking her that night, he would have put out her lights.  He hated Donovan as much as her.

When he thought of the _jomfru_ and Donovan, his mind wondered.  Had she taken him as her lover?  Interesting thought, one he would like to explore.  Would she bare him a son?  Would she use his body?  Perhaps if she had another child, she would forget the one who died.  The two made an intriguing but mixed up couple.  He frowned a little.  If they were together that way, wouldn't it be more difficult for him to escape their clutches?  Why was he suddenly worried?  He sat up and glanced at his wife for a long moment.  He had to get up, get going, and start his day.  If he didn't, he thought he might go mad.

*  *  *

Donovan had tried repeatedly to take the binoculars from Pax, but she wasn't giving them up.  Her obsessive behavior worried him and he was incredibly afraid she didn't intend on keeping her promise.  Yet, something told him she wouldn't betray his trust.  Once she saw Ahiga, she'd give over.  She wouldn't do it until then.  Feeling just a tad useless at the moment, Donovan leaned up behind her and dropped his hands on her shoulders.  She didn't flinch.  Her neck and shoulders were knotted.  Jesus.  If she didn't let this go, he couldn't imagine what would happen to her.  His hands began to knead the muscles, but she kept her eyes peeled.  Nothing could distract her.  She had another promise to keep, one she had made to Lee.  Looking away would only aid toward breaking that promise, and she would rather die than do that.  Mentally, Donovan decided if they hadn't seen Ahiga by nine a.m., they would go back to the hotel and regroup for the next phase.  She wouldn't like it, but he didn't care.  They both needed rest, needed the time.

While Pax watched the house obsessively, Tore Raynor stepped out of the shower and dressed.  His special phone, his 'work' phone, rang.  He reached for it and listened to the words on the other end of the line.  After a moment, a grin spread across his face, one that was also a bit tentative and fearful.  He hung up and stepped out toward the back of his mansion.  Considering how much his property sprawled in all directions, he might be able to just see what his attention had been drawn toward.  He craned his neck against the door.  Ah yes.  A van.  It seemed deserted, of course, but it was pretty obvious who was in it.  Did they think they could get away with this shit?  Ah well.  He knew how to get out of his home without detection.  He had made sure that the architect had designed a safe escape underground.  He couldn't believe their stupidity.  Actually, he could believe the stupidity of the _jomfru_.  After all, she _was_ a woman.  But Donovan surprised him.  He should have known better.  It would have been easy to pick them off like flies, but he'd wait a while and bide his time.  He only wanted to strike when the pair was separated.  Alone, he could handle the _jomfru_, but with Donovan in the mix, it would be slightly more difficult.

The hour of nine came and went.  Several times, Donovan tried to pull her back, to lead her away.  Stubbornly, Pax held on.  Eventually, he snatched the binoculars out of her hand and tossed them aside.  "Goddamn it, Jonella, we've either missed him or he isn't leaving right now.  This man isn't an idiot.  He probably knows we're here.  We're going back and we're leaving right now.  Give me the fucking keys to the van.  Don't make me take them from you."

"As if you could," she said.

"Jonella, I don't have time for this shit.  It's time to go, time to give up for now.  Tonight, we'll go again.  We'll find him.  Remember, you're supposed to be trusting me now, or have you forgotten?"  She looked away and then down.  "I see that you haven't," he said.  "Good.  I'm glad I have your attention.  Give me the keys and let's go back.  We both need food, showers, and sleep.  Even _I_ can't go twenty-four seven," he said with a sardonic grin.

She shook her head and smiled a little.  "If you had me in bed, you could," she commented lightly.  She dug the keys out from inside her bra [it would have been the first place he would have looked] and handed them over.  "Okay, Frank, let's get out of here.  Although I hate to fucking admit it, you're right.  I'm a mess and I need a bed."

An hour later, Donovan and Pax sauntered into the hotel room together arm-in-arm.  Yesterday, when noticed, they had broken apart as if they should be ashamed of themselves.  However, today, neither of them gave a shit.  Of course, the team noticed yet again, with dropped jaws and lifted eyebrows.  Surely they _had_ worked last night, hadn't they?  They eventually broke apart, but not because they were noticed by anyone.  Pax escaped to take a shower.  In her gentle vernacular, she declared that she needed to shower because she 'smelled like a fucking pig.'  Shaking his head, he watched her until she was out of sight.  He turned and saw the stunned looks on the faces of the team.  He lifted both eyebrows briefly as to say 'so what.'  He then stepped into his boss shoes to find out if they had found anything interesting or useful.  Donovan had formulated a plan while he and Pax were coming back to the hotel, and it would rely on Alex.

Pax stepped out of the shower, immediately noticing the steam in the room.  God.  It felt heavenly in this room, like a sauna.  In a moment, she would retrieve Donovan and give him a chance to feel this wonderful, soothing heat.  Until then, she relished it for as long as was humanly possible.  When she came out of the steamy bathroom, she noticed that Donovan had plopped down on the bed and had his arms tucked beneath his head and his ankles crossed.  He appeared exhausted, but was wide-awake.  His cheeks were scruffy again.  He needed a shave.  She ignored him for a moment and started looking around for the clothing she had brought with her.  Where the fuck had she put it?  Jesus.  She had left it in the other room and there was no fucking way she was going to step out there like this.  Perhaps if she demanded nicely, Frankie would get them for her.

Before she asked, he glanced at her with a smile.  "I brought them in for you.  I noticed you had forgotten them.  I started to go back out, but I needed a break.  After a night in a van, this bed feels incredible."

_Oh yeah, I'll bet it does_, she thought.  She was very tempted to jump right in the big middle of him, but she kept thinking of the agents outside.  Sometimes, their lovemaking sessions got out of hand.  What if today was one of those days?  _Get your mind out of the fucking gutter, you horny assed bitch_.  Sighing, she walked around to the other side of the bed, noticing that he had left her clothes there.  In the back of her mind, she wondered if he had done this on purpose.  _You certainly do not have to fucking trick me into bed.  All you have to do is ask.  Hell no.  Better still, just fucking look at me, and I'll be your slave for the rest of the day_.  She reached for her panties and he didn't move a muscle.  She slipped into them and then reached for her bra.  Still nothing.  _Okay_, she thought, a bit disappointed, _I could have read him wrong.  Oh well._  When she reached out for her slacks, she stopped when he sat up with his back facing her.  To her amazement, he began to strip down for his shower.  She felt quite perverted watching him strip, but couldn't help it.  So she'd wait a minute to finish dressing until he went into the bathroom.  What was a few more minutes?

Once undressed, Donovan stretched and listened to his spine cracking.  At that point, Pax grabbed the rest of her clothing and began walking around the bed.  She intended to leave him to his shower.  When she was close enough, he reached out for her, took her hand, and pulled her back.  He gazed up at her with the most solemn look on his face she had ever seen.  She thought he had already consumed her with his eyes, but she had been completely wrong.  At that very moment, he literally picked her up and drew her inside, holding her tightly, not releasing her, never releasing her again.  That one look moved her more than any single touch ever could.  It was scaring the shit out of her, because she found herself reacting to it, returning the heated gaze, transmitting as many of her thoughts to him as he was to her.  It wasn't necessarily a heated, sexual gaze; it was deeper, earth shattering, and almost…soulful.  Soulful?  Was that the word she was seeking?  She knew right then and there that he wouldn't let her go, and not just for today.  Uncaringly, she dropped her clothing and discarded what she had just put on.  Both of them knew they shouldn't do this, not with so much work that needed to be done, but it was completely out of their control.  He needed her, needed to show her what he'd transmitted through his eyes.  It couldn't wait, it couldn't wait another moment.

After, they lay sprawled together on the bed, his face was nearly buried in the pillow and his arm rested across her body.  She was close enough to hear his heartbeat and it freaked her out a little.  She allowed her hand to run down his arm several times before slipping it into his, their fingers entwining as much as their bodies.  He leaned up just a bit to kiss her, and she noticed that his cheek was still scruffy.  He had yet to get his shower, and she thought he might need one now.  In fact, she was probably going to have to climb back in there herself.  As he nuzzled the delicate skin of her throat, she realized that if he were to mention the word 'marriage' right at that moment, her answer would be quite different.       

*  *  *

Alex gazed at Donovan as if he had lost his mind.  "You want me to _what_?"

Donovan sighed.  He had gone over the scenario a dozen times and would now have to go through it again.  He understood her trepidations, but damn it, they had few options.  Pax certainly couldn't do it.  "You saw the hideous singer last night, did you not?"  Alex nodded.  Hideous wasn't quite descriptive enough.  "Go back to the club tonight, find out who the owner is, hopefully you'll be directed straight to Ahiga.  Audition for him.  Cody can create a persona for you; can even get press out that will describe you as the hottest new singer.  We can get closer to Ahiga this way."

"Jesus, Boss," Alex sighed.  "I can't sing."

"And you call what that freak of nature was doing last night _singing_," Jake offered.  "You can't be any worse than her."

"Shit," she said.  "What other avenue do we have at this point?  None of the stakeouts panned out exactly.  I just hope I can pull this off."

"After what we heard last night, Alex, _anyone_ could pull it off," Jake quipped.  

*  *  *

Tore Raynor stared down at the petite woman with the ice blue eyes.  She had told him her name was Gyllene.  It was Norwegian, meaning 'golden.'  Intriguing.  She had boasted she was an up and coming singer and she wanted the floor tonight.  His other star, Iona, was wearing thin.  Everyone around was getting tired of her, and to be honest, he was as well.  She was unstable and needed to go to a mental institution.  He gazed down at Gyllene, noticing that she was quite beautiful.  Her manager, Liten Mann, stood in the background and demanded that she should ask for top dollar.  Raynor would give it to her, but she would have to prove herself first.  He ushered Mann out the door, and stared down at the lovely woman.  

"So," Raynor said, "Show me what you have."

Nervous as hell, cursing the boss in her mind, she opened her mouth and let it out.

*  *  *

At the hotel, Cody, Monica, and Donovan were monitoring the situation.  It made them nervous that Ahiga had thrown Jake out, but right now, she was fairly safe.  Ahiga wasn't onto her yet.  With Alex singing her heart out in the background, Donovan drew away and crossed his arms over his chest, bringing one up and running his hand over his mouth thoughtfully.  Donovan then glanced over his shoulder at Pax.  The moment she heard Ahiga's voice, she had gone over to the window.  It was too much for her.

He turned back toward the other agents.  "Yell if anything gets out of hand, I need to take care of her."  He approached her from behind, pulled her hair away from neck, and pressed his lips against her flesh.  "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said shortly.  "I'll be better when the fucker is behind nine inches of reinforced steel."

"We'll have him soon.  We've made direct contact now and it's only a matter of time," he said. 

"I know.  It's just that my need for vengeance has to slow down and match your moves, I suppose.  I don't care how you do it, I just want it done," she whispered.  "If I have to live another year with that fucker still free, still on the streets, I don't know what's going to happen to me."

"It won't happen.  He'll be gone, Jonella.  This time next year, it'll be as if he was never anywhere but prison.  All I ask is that you maintain your trust in me."

"It's there," she said.  "I won't go off, I promise."

He kissed the side of her throat again.  "And I know you won't let me down.  I love you."

She closed her eyes and sighed.  Goddamn, that still sounded so very weird, to hear him say it with such passion and sincerity.  It was even weirder feeling it for him.  "Me too."

He left her a moment after that, but she remained at the window.  She wanted this whole deal over and done with, wanted to fulfill a promise made so that she could get on with her life.  Goddamn.  She never thought about what was going to happen next?  What would happen to her and Donovan?  What would happen to _them_?  There was a definite 'them' now, wasn't there?  This wasn't a thing or a fling or just about sex, not anymore.  She would do what she always did, shove it away, and not think about it.


	12. Kidnapped

KIDNAPPED

Donovan stood at the foot of the bed and watched Pax with an amused look on his face.  She was decked out in her tiny mini-skirt and fucking spike heeled boots.  He had forgotten to sneak them out of her luggage and burn them.  Oh well.  Perhaps at another time.  _Would there be another time_?  When they took care of Ahiga, where would they go from here?  When they had been in bed together yesterday, he had come extremely close to flat out asking her to marry him, not just fucking around, but actually saying the words.  If he knew her as well as he thought he did, she wouldn't have accepted anyway.  Then again, there were other factors to consider as well.  One of those being his daughter.  Pax's relationship with Stasia was still tentative at best.  Her heart was still aching for her son, and he was certain his little girl sometimes made the ache a little worse.  However, they had had their moments.  Pax actually seemed as if she were trying with Stasia.  His daughter didn't quite trust the strange woman yet, but she was fascinated by her tallness and her affinity for giving her spoons.  Pax looked up at about the same time he had gone into his thoughtful reverie.  He was lost in thought and for a moment, she was tempted to scream at him just so the look would go away.  She didn't want to know what he was thinking about, but if she thought about it long and hard enough, she would know.  Donovan had actually asked her to come in here so they could talk about something that Alex had discovered the night before.  He wanted to tell Pax directly and not have her hear of the plan from the outside fringes.  He didn't think she would like it, but it was the only thing that would draw Ahiga out.

Pax stood and walked over to the mirror.  She went to work on taming her hair, attempting to whip it into a hasty French braid.  She stopped only when she heard Frankie's command:  "leave it down."  She shook her head in exasperation and did as he asked.  She took her brush in hand and began working it through her hair.  He noticed she was taking her sweet time, and he wondered if she weren't doing it on purpose.  Had she heard them talking earlier?  The plan would be carried out with or without her blessing, but he wanted her to know about it in advance.  When she finally had her hair in some type of respectable order, she turned toward Donovan and noticed that his worried/concerned look hadn't left his face.

"Something is going down tonight, and I need you to know," he began.  She said nothing, simply stood staring at him.  He swallowed hard, feeling like a coward.  "Alex found out last night that Ahiga's weak spot is his wife and children.  He is very taken with them.  She said that he spent a lot of time talking about them just in the few moments she was auditioning."

"Oh fuck, Frankie," she moaned.  "You're not saying what I think you're saying?  You're going to use his family against him?  What the fuck are you thinking?  As much as I fucking hate his guts, his children are innocent, his wife is innocent.  Don't fucking do it, Frankie, I'll fucking walk right now.  My thing is with him, not his family."

"Would you let me finish," he said.  "No harm will come to them.  We're going to do nothing more than divert traffic after she picks up the older children from school.  I promise you that we won't harm a hair on their heads.  Do you think I'd hurt them after what happened to you?  Do you?  Once we have traffic jammed up, I'll make the call to Ahiga about this family, and we'll have a confrontation.  He won't come out on his own, but we can draw him out.  This is the only way I see getting to him.  He's been dodging us fairly well, even at his home.  You know that yourself."

"I don't like it," she said.  "I don't fucking like it at all.  You're still using them, still causing stress of some kind, and I cannot fucking support that."

"It doesn't matter if you support it, it will be done.  I repeat, no harm will come to those children.  The only stress they'll suffer is that of being in a traffic jam.  If I had another route, I'd take it, but right now, this is all we have.  I'm doing this to get this guy for you, Jonella.  Don't you understand?"  

She didn't say whether she accepted that or not, her mind was somewhere else.  "When you face off with Ahiga, are you taking me with you?"

He wanted to refuse, to say absolutely fucking not, but he bit it back.  He would take her, but keep her in the periphery as with everything.  They could not move on Ahiga until he moved on them.  At the same time, the FBI would tear his records to shreds.  They had enough to sink him for several years, but they had to move soon.  "You'll be there, but you won't make a move, Jonella.  You can't.  You won't be in, but on the periphery as always."

She nodded.  "I know.  Don't you think I get it by now?"

*  *  *

Before the team put the plan into action, Donovan took Pax back to his parents' house to check in with them.  Since hearing of Ahiga's connections in Miami, Donovan was a bit on the paranoid side and afraid something would happen to his daughter.  He had no worries as he walked up on the porch and saw his mother and Stasia in the living room.  He left Pax in the car, which was immediately noticed by his mother.  She stood staring at the car curiously.  Unusual.  For days, the two of them couldn't be apart longer than an hour without one looking for the other.  Yet, she sat in the car, looking disturbed and her son didn't look all that great, either.

"Son, is everything okay?  Isn't your wife coming out?"

He glanced back at the car.  Pax had her arms crossed over her chest and she was gazing blankly out the window.  Normally animated, she wasn't moving at all.  Donovan felt horribly about the play-acting and he would have a lot of explaining to do.  He had had this woman in their home, had made endless love to her right under their noses, and she was nothing more to him than his lover.  She wasn't his wife, would probably never consent to be, and he was more than certain his parents would be very hurt.  He felt lower and lower the longer he stood there.  He ached to tell her right then and there, but he couldn't.  They had shit to do and not a lot of time to do it.  

He shook his head, feeling like such a liar.  "No.  We can only stay a few minutes.  We'll be back late.  When we return, there are some things Jonella and I need to discuss with you."  Without another word to his mother, he turned and went back to the car.  As he climbed inside, he noticed that she was playing with the silver ring again, seemingly lost in thought.  "When this is over, we're telling my parents the truth."  She said nothing, just kept staring straight ahead.  What the hell was in her mind?  "Jonella, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.  _I just wish I could keep you, that's all._  "Just thinking."  She began working the ring over again, sliding it on and off, twisting it around her finger.  She wasn't necessarily worried about the plan or even angry about it anymore, but she wondered what would happen after tonight?  It was a fucking scary thought.  "I really hate breaking it to them, your parents are really nice.  They're good people.  You're very lucky."

He wanted to say something to her, but she had an odd look on her face.  She didn't want to talk about it anymore.  Goddamn it, but he did.  He wanted this shit out in the open, wanted to bang it out until neither of could talk.  Yet, this wasn't the time for it.  It would come later, after the showdown with Ahiga.  The only thing he could do was reach over and grasp her hand.  At first, she tensed and refused to allow the touch.  After a moment, she gave in and held his hand tightly in hers.  Their relationship had grown and developed into something neither of them expected or wanted.  Now, it was coming to a bizarre close.  _It doesn't have to end, can't you see that?  It doesn't have to end.  All you need is a push, just a little push.  _He couldn't.  She'd laugh in his face.

*  *  *

Ingrid Raynor was completely exhausted.  Her gigantic belly hardly fit behind the wheel of her SUV any longer.  In a few weeks, someone else would have to pick up the children.  She had a horrendous headache that wasn't helped by her squalling two-year-old in the back.  If Keith would just stop crying, she might feel better.  She waited patiently for her other two sons.  She smiled and waved them other.  Six-year-old Josef and eight-year-old Klaus were almost twins.  They ran out to the SUV happily, completely oblivious to the fact that their father had murdered their half-brother in cold blood.  Josef jumped in the back seat with Keith and Klaus in the front with their mother.  They had to get home early tonight.  Tore wanted to take them to dinner to celebrate one last time before the new baby came.  Once he was born, family outings would be a thing of the past for a while.  Her husband insisted that she stay home with the boys.  She didn't mind.  She just figured that it was her lot in life.

She made her way through busy traffic.  It was much worse during drop offs and pick-ups, and Ingrid was a bit irritated.  The heat and the added strain of the new baby was weighing her down, tuckering her out.  She sighed as she maneuvered through the sea of cars and shielded her eyes from the blinding sun reflecting off her hood.  She cursed herself for forgetting her sunglasses.  For once, the children were relatively quiet and the movement of the vehicle had lulled Keith to sleep.  She groaned out loud when she saw the large detour sign.  She didn't need any delays today.  She took the detour, barely looking at Officer Alex as she passed.  If she had, she would have seen the young woman muttering into her blouse.  However, she was irritated and distracted.  Tore would not be pleased.

When Donovan heard Alex's signal that it was a go, he nodded toward Cody who touched a button on his computer.  After a moment, he heard the distinctive beeps and blips made as the number was being dialed.  He listened to the ringing with impatience.  _Pick up, you fucker, I know you're there_.  After six rings, a gruff voice answered the phone.  Just by Pax's reaction alone [she jumped and yipped], he knew it was Ahiga.  Before he spoke, he began to pace a bit.  "Good afternoon, Agent Ahiga.  It's okay if I call you that, isn't it?  How are you doing today?  Good?"

The man on the other end of the line listened to the voice.  He knew he should recognize it, but he didn't, not immediately.  This person was one whom he knew in his past life.  "Only the CIA refers to me as Ahiga, my friend.  Who are you and why do you bother me," he demanded gruffly.

"I'll get to that in time, Agent Ahiga.  Let's talk, shall we?  I understand you have a beautiful pregnant wife and three equally beautiful sons.  I also understand that you love your family very much.  Am I correct in those assumptions, Agent Ahiga?  If not, please correct me."

"What of my wife and children," he shouted.  "What the hell have you done with them?  Who are you?  _Tell me or I will kill you_."

Donovan chuckled bitterly.  "Impatient, aren't we?  Do you remember a woman named Jonella Paxton?  I think she had a son, didn't she?  He was two when you killed him.  Anyway, ancient history, right?  Let's move on to who I am and what I want.  It's Frank Donovan, Agent Ahiga.  I was Agent Paxton's partner some time ago.  We've had more than one run in, haven't we?  I thought it was time for a little payback for Jonella and her son.  I have your wife and your children with me right now.  Does that interest you at all?"

Ahiga began to curse at Donovan in his native language.  "_You lie, you bastard, you lie_," he screamed.  "They are not with you.  She is at home right now with the boys, preparing for dinner."

"Are you sure about that," he asked pointedly.  "When was the last time you called to check on them?  Did you call today?  I'd suggest that after you finish the conversation with me, you call home, but don't do it yet.  If you hang up, I won't call back, and you'll never see them again."  At the far corner of the room, he could hear Pax crying.  God.  He hated hurting her.  He tried to persuade her to leave the room, but she refused.  "So, do you think I'm lying now?  If you want proof, I can give it to you."  He nodded toward Cody who pushed another button.  It was the squalling of a child, not his, but it was effective enough.  Ahiga began cursing again.  Another chuckle left the depths of Donovan's throat.  "From the tone of your voice, I think you're convinced, aren't you?  Good.  If you love your children as much I think, you'll agree with my deal.  Even exchange, Ahiga.  You for your family.  I'll accept nothing else.  Make your decision, I'm giving you twenty seconds."  He began to pace as he counted down.  "Twenty…nineteen…eighteen…seventeen…sixteen…you're running out of time, my friend…fifteen…fourteen…thirteen…"

"_Stop, stop it, you bastard_," he yelled.

"I thought you would see it my way, Ahiga.  Why don't we meet at your club in two hours?  Bring no one.  You know the club; it was where you insulted my partner.  I really hate it when people close to me are harmed.  Makes me a little jumpy.  I'm sure you understand, don't you?  If you don't show up within two hours, you'll be back on the singles market before you know it.  The clock starts ticking right now."  He made a slicing motion at his throat, and Cody disconnected the call.

Pax glanced at him.  "Goddamn, that was vicious," she said from across the room.

"I'm sorry, Jonella," he said softly.

"No, don't apologize.  I liked hearing the pain in that fucker's words.  He deserves every fucking bit of it."

"Can you do this," he asked as he approached her.  "Can you face this man?  Just hearing his voice sent you over.  What will you do if you're close?  I almost don't want to take you."

She lifted her chin defiantly.  "You said I could be on the periphery.  I've kept my promise, and you'd damn well better keep yours.  You won't fucking leave me behind.  I'll follow if I have to.  Take me with you, I can fucking take it.  I'll take anything to see that twisted asshole taken down."

"You don't move unless he moves first," he told her.  "Remember."

"I've got it, I've got it," she said impatiently.

They sat outside in the van quiet and apprehensive.  The rest of the team was behind them for backup.  Alex had lifted a key and in a few moments, they'd make their way inside.  Donovan watched Pax closely.  She was tense and wired up.  He'd seen her like this dozens of times.  She was going into full 'agent' mode.  He needed to distract her.  If he didn't, she would run in with fists and teeth at the ready.  He grabbed her arm and she jumped.  She gazed down at his hand.  She was tempted to smack it away, but she understood what he was doing.  She sighed a little, grateful for the touch, grateful for the push back into reality.

"This will end it, Jonella, I promise you," he said.

She nodded.  "I know.  Can we do this?"

He nodded and took her arm.  Together, they left the van and walked toward the back entrance.  Donovan unlocked the door and the two of them slipped inside.  The interior of the club was darkened, but that problem was solved as soon as Pax hit the lights.   Both of them saw an advertisement for their new singer:  Gyllene.  They had to smile at the irony, but soon grew serious.  Any slight distraction could make the difference between life and death.  They stood close together, Donovan holding onto the back of Pax's shirt tightly.  If she ran off, she'd leave her shirt with him.  They waited, every now and then, calling back and forth amongst the agents.  Nothing.  There was no movement.  Ahiga had yet to arrive.  He was running out of time, and they were both becoming antsy.  One more minute, and this plan was history.  However, a noise from the back broke out, and they were sure Ahiga had arrived.  

When Ahiga showed himself, Donovan felt Pax's body quivering with anger.  She wanted to break free of his grasp so badly that she couldn't stand it.  He held onto her shirt even tighter.  _Calm down, Jonella; don't let him do this to you_.  "Glad you decided to show up," Donovan said with a smile.  "You apparently called home first, didn't you?"

Ahiga wasn't looking at Donovan; he had fixed his black eyes on Pax.  "_Jomfru_ [virgin], you have a new lover now.  If he gives you a child, you won't have to grieve over the one you lost."

Pax closed her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth.  She was straining desperately against Donovan's grip.  He held on even tighter, perhaps grabbing skin.  _Don't play his game.  Don't talk to him.  Don't say a word_.  "We didn't come to talk," Donovan said.  "We came to bargain.  You for your family."  Donovan carefully slid his gun from its holster and took aim.  "Jake, Alex, move in."  He glanced at Ahiga who appeared confused and a little betrayed.  "Tell the agents to descend on the office."

"You play a fucking cruel game," Ahiga said.  

"Yes, I did," Donovan said with a nod.  "However, you've played your own, haven't you?"

Of course nothing was ever as easy as it needed to be.  Ahiga was trained, just like Donovan and Pax.  He rushed forward, dodging the bullets from Donovan's gun and managed to knock it out of his hand.  At that point, Pax dived down to grab the gun that had skittered across the floor.  Ahiga's attention should have been focused on eliminating Donovan, but it wasn't.  He went after Pax instead.  Fighting quietly, the CIA way, he grabbed Pax around the waist and squeezed hard.  If he managed to get his hands around her throat, the _jomfru_ would never harm him again.  He was throwing her around like a rag doll and some way, she managed to elbow him in the ribs.  The blow did nothing to him.  His stomach was hard muscle.  Well, if he wanted to fight dirty, she could fight right back.  She dug her nails into his arms and began clawing him, digging deep grooves into his skin.  He released his grip only slightly to allow his hand to move upward.  He was intent on snapping her neck.  She felt his arm going up and up.  His hand settled around her throat and she felt the crushing and was waiting for the snap.  Just when she thought it was going to happen, he dropped her.  On her hands and knees now, taking deep, hitching breaths, she glanced behind her.  Donovan had whacked the bastard between the shoulders with the butt of his gun.

Ahiga wasn't down by any far stretch of the imagination, but he was hurting.  She looked up at Donovan.  He didn't move or say a word.  Without hesitating, she turned to Ahiga and kicked his chest, knocking him over to his back.  Splayed out before her, he was looking up and smiling.  She would wipe it off his face.  She kicked him again, rolling him into his stomach.  The fucker was laughing.  _We can't have that now can we?_  She kicked him on his ass, digging her heel in.  He didn't like that much and he roared out in pain.  He turned to his side, ready to grab her leg, but she dodged his paw.  It was low and dirty, but she didn't give a fuck.  It gave her massive satisfaction when she gave him a swift hard kick between his legs.  He howled in pain.

"_Don't like that, do you_," she cried.  "_How does that feel?  I'll bet it feels nothing like the pain my Lee suffered at your fucking hands_!  _I hope you're sterile, you fucker, I hope you're sterile like me.  I hope you rot._"  

She kicked him again and then again.  She was readying to grind her needle like heel into his groin when Donovan put a stop to it.  He reached for her, grabbing her around the waist.  Lost in a blind rage, she began kicking at him, clawing, biting.  He held onto her tightly and brought her down to the floor.  She struggled against Donovan, trying to get away from him.  But he held her, held her until the haze faded.    

*  *  *

A/N:  Thanks for sticking with me, you guys.  Just one more chapter to go!!!!  


	13. Propositions

PROPOSITIONS

It was after two in the morning when Donovan and Pax found their way back to his parents' home.  Before they even attempted getting out of the car, they sat together quietly, almost reflecting on what happened earlier.  Both of them seemed to understand that it was the end of the road for them, but knew it wasn't necessary if one or the other of them would just take a step in the right direction.  However, neither of them would.  Just before they left the car, he noticed that the kitchen light was on.  He smiled a little, not the least bit surprised that his parents were waiting up for them, waiting for their explanation.  He and Jonella exchanged a brief glance that was filled with a little sadness.  Together, they had survived yet another crazy adventure, but they were uncertain as to what would happen beyond tonight.  He noticed that Pax had taken care to dress respectively again.  Before they drove over here, she had had to stop off at the hotel and change.  Her clothing was torn and useless, the heels of her boots broken.  Not only did she need fresh clothing, but he also didn't want her there when Ahiga was taken away.  He was afraid that she'd attack him again.  He had stood by and watched her beating him, her mind far away, her body flying about in a blind rage.  Had he ever seen her like that?  Would he ever want to see her like that again?  He had let her beat the shit out of the man until it became obvious that if he didn't remove her, she'd kill him.  The worse thing for them both was facing Ingrid Raynor after the 'traffic' jam cleared.  Both Donovan and Pax went to her personally, guiltily explaining what her husband's trade was, what he had delved in.  At one point, the youngest child came to his mother and gazed up at Pax with his ebony eyes.  She had stared at the boy and Donovan had seen a light in her eyes dying a little.  She had kept the promise to her son, but she would never see him again.  Nothing she had done to Ahiga would bring her little boy back.  As expected, Ms. Raynor did not take the news well.  Duh.  Who would expect it?  She demanded that they leave immediately.  She didn't want them in her home.  She had screamed that _her_ Tore would never break the law.  An evil part of Pax wanted to tell her exactly what kind of man her husband was, but she held back.  For now, she was finished with hurting people on purpose.  

Donovan sighed and reached across the seat.  Without thinking, she reached out at the same time so he could grasp her hand.  Both of them desperately wanted to ask the questions most on their minds, but it was no use.  Sooner or later, they would have to deal with it, they both understood this.  However, first, they had to deal with a very confused Anneliese and Kane Donovan.  He released her hand seemingly saying 'let's do this.'  Feeling like shits, they entered the house and went into the kitchen.  Donovan had grasped her hand again and they sat close together as if facing a firing squad.  What was going to be the hardest?  Telling his parents his 'marriage' was a sham or asking Pax what she intended to do with the rest of her life?  Both situations were upsetting, heart wrenching.  _But what can we do?_  

"I'm really sorry, Mom, Dad.  I'm afraid Jonella and I have been slightly dishonest with you.  The only truth we've been telling is that we are together, just not married.  Jonella was part of a case of mine and she needed a cover so I could keep my eye on her.  Posing as newlyweds was the answer.  I never wanted to mislead either of you, but it was necessary."  He could just imagine what they were thinking.  God, he felt like a child again.  If it would do any good, he'd go to his room without dessert.  He couldn't stand having their eyes on him like that.  It was funny how parents had ways of making their adult children feel small again.

Pax said nothing.  She kept her hands folded in her lap, her eyes diverted.  She was actually very damn tired and needed to sleep for fifteen hours straight.  Finally, she looked up after her courage kicked in.  "Although he is speaking for us both, I want to apologize for myself.  You've been nothing but kind to me, and I appreciate it, even though it was all a sham."

Donovan watched as his parents exchanged a look between them.  It was hard to read.  Would they yell, scream, demand that they leave, disown him?  "So, you're not married," Anneliese stated rather than asked.  Donovan shook his head.  He was waiting for her to blow up.  "Pretty good play-acting, wouldn't you say, love?"

He watched as his father nodded, agreeing with his mother.  "Yes," he said.  "In fact, damn good play-acting.  You're not married, but you should be."

Donovan and Pax exchanged a WTF look.  "Mom?  Dad?"

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?  I thought it was something big," Anneliese said, rising to her feet and offering her hand to her husband.  "You two can do what you want, we're going to bed."

They sat together in stunned silence.  It had gone a lot smoother than they thought.  He glanced at her.  "What do you want to do," he asked.

_Jesus, what a loaded question.  _"Tonight or tomorrow?"

"For now, tonight will do.  We can talk about tomorrow later.  What do you want to do?"

She took hold of his hand.  "I want to thank you up close and personal for what you did for me tonight.  Take me to bed and give me one more night of wedded bliss.  Could you do that?"

He nodded.  "I can."

*  *  *

They lay in bed together, completely wrapped in each other's arms and watched the sun rise.  It peeked into the blinds, slowly at first, but then faster and faster as the morning grew later.  Neither of them had said much, each was a little afraid to delve into anything.  Why ruin a relatively tender moment with words?  

"Do you mind if I keep this," Pax asked as she held out her left hand.

"You want that cheap silver thing," he asked with a smile.

"Yeah, I kind of got used to it.  Do you mind if I keep it?"

He kissed her very softly.  "No.  It's yours."  His hand came out to clasp hers.  "My flight out to Chicago leaves today at five.  Jonella, what are you going to do after today?"

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  I thought of hanging around here for a little while, soaking in some more sun, perhaps finding myself.  There are a few things I'd like to check out in this town.  It's really nice here, exactly as I thought it would be."  She heard the slight change in his breathing.  She wasn't quite giving him the answer he wanted.  She smiled a little.  "Maybe I'll take a trip, too.  The sun, beaches, and shit get a little boring sometimes.  Every now and then, I like a dreary day.  Perhaps I'll find my way to Chicago so I can hang around, pick at you, push your buttons, and drive you batshit.  I kind of like doing that stuff."

He laughed.  "Glad to hear that.  I wouldn't want you to go totally away.  I don't want you to stay here.  The commute is a bitch."

"No shit," she said with her own laugh.  "I never thought I'd feel like this again.  It's all because of you.  You know that, don't you?  You fixed me, you really did."

"I love you, Jonella.  I've always loved you in some way the entire time I've known you.  Honestly, you've fixed me as well.  Whenever you decide to come back, I'll be waiting.  Don't stay here too long or I'll come after you."

"You got it," she said.  "Two weeks max, if that.  I have a lot of shit to work out here."

"If you need me for that, I can stay."

"No.  I can handle it.  Go home.  I'll see you in two weeks."

Pax accompanied Donovan to the airport.  He had left Stasia with his parents for a few extra weeks.  They had volunteered to bring her back.  Once at the airport, they talked very little.  Again, there was no need, no pressure.  When his flight was called, he turned toward her and smiled a little.  "Jonella?"

She looked up.  "Yeah?"

"Just so you know, I _was_ asking."  With that, he turned and left.

Pax felt her heart stop.  Dear fucking God.  Had he said what she thought he said?  That fucking fucker.  He'd tricked her again.  And now, she was two weeks away from getting him back.  _He had been asking all along, and you just let it go.  You **are** a dolt_.

*  *  *

Donovan grumbled incoherently when the doorbell rang.  He was in the middle of a shower and whoever the crazy fucker was wouldn't go away.  He belted his robe, cursing like everything.  He unlocked the door and swung it open.  Pax.  Two fucking weeks to the day.  He wanted to move, to say something, but he couldn't.  He had basically left her hanging for two weeks, the same as he had done when he told her he loved her.  Had she returned to kill him?

"Frankie," she said with a smile.  "Just so you know, my answer is yes."  With that, she turned and ran down the hall.

That fucking woman.  Pushing his buttons again and again.  He darted down the hall after her, but had to stop half way when his robe flew open.  He was naked underneath and didn't want to get arrested for indecent exposure.  By the time he made it downstairs, she was nowhere to be seen.  Cursing under his breath, he went back up to his apartment.  He had been inside no more than five minutes when the doorbell rang again.  _She came back_.  He turned and opened the door.  It wasn't Pax.  To his utter disappointment, it was Remy.  His stomach immediately became tied in knots.  She was here to take his daughter away, and he had just gotten an acceptance to a marriage proposal from a woman who ran away like a crazed roadrunner.  For the hundredth time, he felt himself torn in two ways at once.  Donovan needed to go after Pax, but he also needed to deal with his ex-wife.

Although he had little patience, he stepped back and allowed her to enter.  "I suppose you're here to fight with me over Stasia?"  

She shook her head.  "Wow, you never change.  To the point, Donovan, as always.  Yet, I probably deserved that.  No, Frank, I'm not."  She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.  "I've decided to come back and stay in town.  I have a job here, somewhat of an established life, and I can't keep uprooting Stasia.  Regardless of what happened to us, she loves you, and I know you love her.  I also don't want to become one of those women who enjoy using the children to hurt the ex-husband.  I think I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I was selfish.  People grow apart, they divorce, and sometimes it's just a fact of life, isn't it?  I can't say I'm still not jealous or hurt or that I don't love you."

He sighed deeply.  "Thank you.  I'm sorry it got so out of hand and out of control."  He could see she didn't really want to have this conversation, not right now.  Shifting gears, he said, "Stasia is in the care of my parents right now.  I'm giving them time to get to know her, they haven't seen her much.  As soon as they bring her from Miami, we'll work out a fair visitation."

"Very well, Frank," she said with a little nod.  "You're still…with her?"

He nodded.  "Yes."  _Well, sort of_.  "I am."

She sighed.  "Good luck, I mean that."

"Thank you," he said again.  "I appreciate it."

"Goodbye, Frank," she said before turning and leaving his apartment.

She had been gone no more than five minutes before Donovan was struggling into his clothes and shoes.  Where the fuck had she gone?  He had to find Pax before he lost his mind.  Once he made it downstairs, he had a message waiting at the concierge's desk.

It was from Pax.  _I said yes and I meant it.  However, I have a few things I need to do here and there.  Wait for me, Frankie, and I'll be back before you know it._  He crumpled the note into his hand.  He raised his arms up high, beseeching the Gods.  A cry left him:  "Ahhhhhh!"  That woman.  That fucking woman.  Jonella fucking Paxton.

*  *  *

Donovan sat back and propped his feet up on his desk.  It was after hours.  What the hell.  Of course, he wouldn't do this with the team present, but since he had the whole building to himself, who was going to see him?  His hand absently caressed the thick evening addition of the newspaper.  He had yet to unfold it.  He was normally quite the voracious reader of the newspaper, but tonight, he had little interest.  How many days was it now?  Fifteen?  Twenty?  _Be honest with yourself, asshole.  It's been thirty.  An entire month has passed.  A month.  Not two days, not three, but thirty damn days_.  Yes, thirty days.  Thirty days and no sign of Pax anywhere.  Since she'd left the note for him, she had made no contact.  He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but here lately, he had taken the 'fuck it' attitude.  If she didn't want to come back, he wouldn't beg her.  She could play her useless mind games all she wanted.  He wanted no part of them.  He wanted no part of her.  _Fuck her_.  He shook his head.  He was fooling himself, he really was.  He could sit here all night and tell himself any lie he wanted to dig up.  However, he knew the score, as did Jonella Paxton.  He wanted her; he'd waited patiently, and was still waiting.  _Goddamn it.  Why is this so damn important to me_?  Sighing, driving the demon out of his mind for the time being, he picked up his paper and cracked it open.  His favorite section, morbidly enough, was the crime news.  He saw a potential case in everything.  He unfolded the paper and began reading an article.  Within moments, he was engrossed in it.  The writing style struck him as familiar, but he shook it off.  He hadn't glanced at the name of the reporter.  It wasn't important to him, not as important as the story.  However, there was a phrase in there that drew his attention.  He wasn't sure how it had gotten past the censors.  _Well, crap on that._  Crap on that?  He drew his finger back up the article until he noted the byline.  The reporter's name was J.E. Paxton.  _No, it couldn't be.  It couldn't be her._

***  *  ***

**THE END????????**


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